


Lessons in romance

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Greg is... 20-something, Happy Ending, Humor, Jealousy, John is 13, M/M, Mycroft is 19, Mycroft is a good brother, Overall 6 years pass, Pining, Romance, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock is 12, So is Mycroft, Timeline is a bir crazy, bad family relationships, but it's going to work out, everyone shall be happy at the end, it took a slightly angsty turn, kidlock/teenlock, or at least he tries, or so I hope!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 49,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Twelve-years-old Sherlock Holmes finds himself facing his biggest challenge yet: attempting to get his crush’s attention.Mycroft Holmes finds himself way out of his deep while trying to help. And the handsome police officer that keeps getting his little brother out of trouble is not helping one bit.





	1. Stalking isn’t romantic

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t planning on starting a new fic anytime soon. Since I’m nearly done with “Hopeless”, I had thought I’d wait until the [Fandom Trumps Hate](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) auction was done, so I could see if I was going to have a commissioned fic to work on. But then… I’m so very weak willed and inspiration comes to me in the weirdest forms at the oddest times :P
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> In case you’re interested, the inspiration comes from a song in spanish (my native language), called “[Rey Azul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDibxsV3HdI)” by Emmanuel. It’s quite cute, I think, so if you understand spanish… well, listen to it ;)
> 
>  
> 
> So, without further ado, enjoy?

The doorbell rings, making Mycroft look up from his book. A quick glance to the clock tells him is a little late for regular visits (not that there are many of those, to begin with) and so that means-

He sighs, marking the page he’s on and standing up, heading towards the entrance. Mummy and Dad are out (as usual), so it’s just him in the big and empty house. Sherlock should have arrived hours ago, but of course his little brother had found something else to entertain himself with.

And Mycroft is just about to find out what that  _ something  _ was.

He opens the door, offering a perfunctory smile to the police officer on the other side of it. Or at least that’s his intention, until he gets a good look at the handsome man and he finds himself struggling not to gape like a fish out of the water. He’s never been a believer of love at first sight, but this must definitely be lust at first sight.

That can’t be good.

“Good evening,” the Adonis standing at the door greets cheerfully. “Do you know this young man?” he questions, pointing at the boy he’s holding by the arm, gently but firmly. Sherlock has such a mighty pout that almost makes Mycroft laugh, but he manages to hold back his amusement, if only for the sake of appearances.

“What has he done this time?” he asks, bracing himself for whatever trouble his baby brother might be in. The boy glares darkly at him, attempting to escape the officer’s grasp, looking more than a tad annoyed.

The man tilts his head to the side curiously and Mycroft promptly stops himself from thinking how  _ adorable  _ he looks. “Nothing, actually. I mean, he was strolling through a not so safe neighborhood and he definitely didn’t look like he belonged there, so I thought I’d bring him home before something happened to him.”

Mycroft turns to look at his brother, eyes narrowed, but Sherlock ignores the look with practiced ease. He sighs, knowing he’s not about to get any answers any time soon. “Thank you, officer,” he says politely, attempting to smile charmingly and failing miserably. “It was very kind of you.”

The older man smiles brightly at him and Mycroft tells his silly heart  _ now is not the time to start practicing somersaults _ . “My pleasure,” he says, actually sounding honest and letting go of Sherlock finally. “Have a pleasant day, Mr. Holmes.” And with that he’s gone, leaving Mycroft feeling like a right fool due all the staring he’s doing.

“You’re pathetic,” Sherlock informs him, pushing past him, already sulking. Mycroft sighs, sparing one last longing glance in the direction the officer left and closes the door, willing himself not to start yelling at his brother.

After all, experience shows that never works.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, the doorbell rings once more, effectively interrupting Mycroft’s studying time. But he’s used to it anyway, so he simply takes a deep breath and goes to open the door.

His brother is standing at the other side, with the same officer from the other day.

“What now?” he questions, mostly annoyed at his brother’s ability to get into trouble at any given occasion. Oh, why must he enjoy doing  _ stupid things  _ so much?

The officer blinks, sparing a quick look in Sherlock’s direction. “I’m guessing this is a normal occurrence for you then?” he asks, tone light and perhaps a tad amused.

“Unfortunately,” Mycroft replies easily, earning himself a glare from his younger sibling. “So, what has Sherlock done this time?”

“Nothing!” the boy exclaims, before the officer can even open his mouth. “I was just walking down the street, minding my own business, when this hooligan came out of nowhere-”

“Have you seen the clothes you’re wearing, kid?” the older man interrupts, sounding more fond than annoyed, which Mycroft finds most intriguing. “They don’t exactly blend in with the people living in Lambeth.”

Mycroft frowns, staring at his brother intently. Sherlock is very carefully avoiding his eyes, pouting lightly and the older brother sighs, “have you been chasing murderers on your own  _ again _ , Sherlock?” he finds himself asking and the officer arches an eyebrow, unbelieving.

Oh, wouldn’t Mycroft like that that hadn’t happened before? “That was once,” Sherlock protests darkly. “Inspector Gregson promised to take my theories more seriously next time.”

The officer is eying Sherlock curiously, one eyebrow raised and Mycroft offers him a stiff smile. “What were you doing in Lambeth, then?”

Sherlock’s cheeks acquire an odd red color and Mycroft frowns, more than a little confused. He doesn’t get to ask more, since his little brother murmurs something about  _ keeping his big nose out of his business  _ and storms past him into the house.

“Has he really done that?” the young officer asks, taking Mycroft’s attention away from his brother’s odd behaviour. “Chase after murderers?” he clarifies, when Mycroft simply stares blankly.

“Oh, yes,” he replies. “Just once, as he said. The other ones have been petty thieves and on a remarkable occasion, a nasty blackmailer too.”

“How old is he?” the other man asks, sounding slightly concerned. “Ten?”

“Twelve,” Mycroft corrects, “he’s a little small for his age.”

The officer nods, “well, I’m glad I brought him home, then. Children like him shouldn’t be getting involved in stuff like that.”

Doesn’t Mycroft know it? “Again, thank you officer. I’m most grateful for your help.”

“Just doing my job, Mr. Holmes,” the man says, with a slight inclination of his head and an easy grin that makes  _ things  _ to Mycroft’s insides.

“Mycroft,” the teen corrects, berating himself for his foolishness as soon as his cheeks start burning. The officer offers him a raised eyebrow, a smug smirk on his lips. “If you’re going to keep bringing my brother back- just- well-” he’s blushing madly now and he’s not sure why he ever thought this was a good idea-

“Greg Lestrade,” the man introduces himself, offering him his hand to shake. Mycroft takes it, willing himself to calm down. “Pleased to formally meet you, Mycroft.”

“Yes, well, umm, have a good day, officer. Greg. Goodbye,” he closes the door with perhaps a tad more strength than needed and leans heavily against it, his heart beating erratically.

Oh dear god, just what exactly was that about? He’s usually much smoother than that. Then again, the police officer is unfairly attractive and-

He shakes his head, making a face. He’s made a point of not succumbing to his treacherous hormones ever before and he’s not about to begin now.  _ Sentiment  _ is, after all, a bunch of nonsense for which he has no time whatsoever.

And he’s not about to make an exception for a handsome police officer.

Nevermind how handsome he is.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock has already locked himself in his room and Mycroft considers the merits of taking the time to pick the lock. He knows Sherlock is not about to answer the door on his own, so he either lets him be or he forces his way into the bedroom.

Considering he seems to be doing something reckless and dangerous, Mycroft considers his duty as an elder brother to use whatever means necessary to find out what’s going on.

It takes him 5 whole minutes to pick the lock and by the time he opens the door, Sherlock is already sitting on the bed, glaring darkly at him. He’s hiding something behind him, though and so Mycroft narrows his eyes, carefully making his way closer to the little menace.

Sherlock glares, clutching whatever he’s hiding tighter. Mycroft frowns, noticing it’s his phone, “we can do this the easy or the hard way, Sherlock,” he informs him very calmly and the younger boy’s glare turns even darker. “Come on, brother mine. Just tell me-”

Sherlock attempts to get past him, but Mycroft is quicker and manages to grab him by the waist. The younger boy attempts to break free, yelling, scratching and kicking, but Mycroft manages to hold onto him and to retrieve his phone, which makes him redouble his efforts both to escape and to get the phone back.

“No, no, don’t!” Sherlock cries, as Mycroft lets go of him in order to start going through the boy’s phone, using his height to his advantage, keeping the device out of his reach. “Mycroft, please!”

Mycroft is half tempted to give it back, after hearing the actual anguish in his baby brother’s voice, but he knows better than that. Sherlock would have found his death already hadn’t Mycroft decided to  _ meddle into his business  _ at any given opportunity.

A quick look through his brother’s messages shows nothing, neither does snooping around his archives or browsing history and there are no mysterious calls to be found anywhere. There must be something though, judging by the mighty glare Sherlock is sending in his direction.

In a last and desperate attempt to find out what’s wrong with his brother, Mycroft starts going through his photos. And that search  _ finally  _ reveals something. “Sherlock, who’s this?”

The younger Holmes is blushing madly now, making yet another attempt to snatch his phone back. Mycroft frowns, looking at the picture once more, feeling more confused than anything else.

The picture shows a young boy, perhaps a year older than Sherlock, sitting at the public library. He’s wearing a school’s uniform, the clothes well cared for but very old. He’s staring intently at the book he’s reading, brow furrowed a little, tongue poking out.

He looks at his brother once more. Sherlock looks away, his cheeks still an unhealthy red tone. “Sherlock?”

“His name is John Watson and he goes to Elmgreen,” the boy confesses softly. “He’s… nice.”

Mycroft stares at his little brother, at lost of words. This- this isn’t-

Oh, he’s badly equipped to deal with this. “Alright,” he says finally and Sherlock turns to look at him defiantly, making him sigh. “I guess it is, umm, normal, for a boy your age to start, umm, noticing other people. I-”

“Please stop,” Sherlock pleads, making a face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

No, Mycroft doesn’t. He has great knowledgment of a great deal of things, but this is way out of his expertise. Being home schooled, Mycroft never interacted with other people his age and being so bright, he had started college a little too early, which had always made him stand out and left him without anything close to a friend. Since he had little interest in other people to begin with, he had never particularly minded and while he did notice attractive people from time to time-

Well. He never had an actual  _ crush  _ on anyone _ ,  _ not as his brother apparently does now.

“So you’ve been… stalking him?” Sherlock shrugs non committedly and Mycroft sighs. “Have you actually spoken to him?” a head shake. “How do you know he’s nice, then?”

Sherlock huffs, glaring as if saying  _ isn’t it obvious? _ Mycroft arches an eyebrow and the younger brother scoffs. “I’ve seen him around the library, with other people. He- he spends a lot of time there; family troubles judging by-”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft interrupts him firmly. “You can’t go stalking people.”

The boy shrugs once more, looking a tad sheepish. “What am I supposed to do then?”

Well. That’s a very good question, isn’t it?

Sherlock scoffs once more, snatching his phone back, taking advantage of Mycroft’s distraction. “You’re an useless big brother,” he informs him, sparing a quick glance at the picture on his phone. “Kindly keep your nose out of my business, yes?”

“You can’t keep following him home,” Mycroft says, figuring he can say as much. “Officer Lestrade is right, you’ll get yourself in trouble-”

But Sherlock is already pushing him out of his bedroom and Mycroft figures he might as well comply.

It’s not like he has any advice to offer, really.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?
> 
>  
> 
> This is meant to be just a light, fun fic, with both Holmes brothers being awkward. I’ve been wanting to write a kidlock/teenlock since forever and well… I think the idea is cute. I usually headcanon Mycroft as older than Greg, but for this particular case I think I’m going to go with an older Greg, just so you know.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought and thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, in case you’re interested in the auction I mentioned, [here’s](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) the information on it and [here’s](https://fandomtrumpshateofferings.tumblr.com/post/155747762717/ylc-fth-contributor-page) the link to bid for a commissioned work of mine ;)


	2. Flowers are a classic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock receives some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It turned out a bit on the short side, but I really don’t know where to go from here, so… yep.  
> Enjoy?

“Hi Sherlock!”

Startled, the boy drops the book he’s pretending to read, causing quite a lot of noise in the otherwise completely silent library. He blushes to the tip of his ears, particularly when he notices John has looked into his direction, a curious look on his face.

He turns to glare at the source of his embarrassment and gets a giggle for his troubles as Molly takes a seat in front of him. He glares some more, hoping the girl will get the hint and leave him alone, but alas, there’s no such luck.

“What?” he asks darkly, picking up the book once more and hiding behind it, well aware that John’s eyes are still on his table, although his attention seems to be mostly fixed on Molly. The thought makes him feel vaguely frustrated, although he has no clue why exactly.

“What are you doing?” the girl asks, completely undeterred by his rude behaviour. She seems to be completely immune to his rudeness, now that he thinks about it, since she never even bats an eyelash no matter what he throws her way.

Sherlock shrugs, his cheeks acquiring a red hue. Bad enough is that Mycroft knows about his silly  _ crush,  _ he’s not about to share that information with the girl that insists on attempting to befriend him whenever they happen to run into each other at the library.

Molly stares at him intently, before standing up and hurrying to his side, placing her head right next to his. Sherlock turns to her, wondering what she’s doing and then she’s smirking knowingly, nodding approvingly. “John Watson, huh? He’s cute enough, I suppose.”

Sherlock blushes even more furiously, hiding his face behind his book while Molly giggles delightedly. The girl is all 4 years older than himself and yet she insists on behaving like she’s still a child. “Stop that,” he hisses darkly. “It’s nothing like that.”

Molly hums, taking a seat once more. “I could introduce you, you know. Being a volunteer here, I organize all sort of activities for the public and I could always-”

That sounds… horrid, really. “I’m doing fine on my own,” Sherlock protests, even though that’s a lie. After a whole month of  _ following  _ the other boy around, he’s still nowhere close to a plan on how best to approach him.

The redhead watches him in silence, a small smile on her lips. “You could always try the classics,” she points out gently, patting his hand. “There’s a reason why they’re classics, after all.”

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock demands, excited despite himself. His brother is utter rubbish at this romance bussiness, but Molly  _ is older  _ too, so maybe she has some actual wisdom to share with him.

“You know, the classics,” Molly says, smiling brightly. “Chocolate, flowers, the usual.”

Sherlock frowns. “Flowers?”

Molly blinks, apparently surprised, before smiling a bit- scarily. “Oh, you poor summer child,” she says, with a slight smirk. “You really have no clue at all, do you?”

“I was born in January,” Sherlock feels obliged to point out. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Molly laughs, an actual full belly laugh that makes every head turn in their direction and that earns them an annoyed glare from the head librarian. “Sorry,” she says when she finally manages to calm herself down. “I just- oh, you’re just too cute for words. But don’t worry, I’ll help.” She winks and Sherlock bites his lip, wondering what exactly has he gotten himself into.

Maybe this romance thing isn’t such a good idea after all.

* * *

 

“You know you could have asked your parents for money, right? Or your brother, if you’re reluctant to let them know about your… umm… romantic endeavours.”

Sherlock glares and the police officer laughs, shaking his head but not relishing his hold on the boy’s shoulder. Sherlock looks away, a slight blush covering his cheeks and glares at the flowers in his hands.

“Tulips are an interesting choice,” the man carries on, undeterred by Sherlock’s silence. “I normally stick to roses.”

“That’s because you’re an unimaginative dullard,” Sherlock replies petulantly, earning himself another laugh from the man and he turns to frown at him. 

Middle class, unmarried, single child. This Lestrade is an odd fellow, but Sherlock supposes he’s decent enough. He’s used to police officers treating him with detached indifference and some of them with outright rudeness (although to be fair, Sherlock isn’t very polite to begin with), but this one is actually  _ nice. _

He could be useful someday. Particularly if he manages to make it to Inspector, as he wants to.

“So, the flowers?” Lestrade prods once more and Sherlock glares again, clutching them closer to his chest. He’s mostly embarrassed of having been caught, but he’s also a bit worried. Mycroft has weird notions of what counts as  _ acceptable behaviour _ and he’s not sure if this is within his parameters. If not-

He shivers. He really rather not face Mummy’s wrath.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” the officer insists, snapping him out of his silent reverie and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“How heteronormative of you,” he points out. “They’re for a boy.”

“Oh,” the man says and Sherlock watches him closely. People can be quite weird when it comes to sexual orientation (although Sherlock doesn’t understand why) and so he figures he ought to be ready for a possible negative reaction. “That’s- yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed,” he offers him an embarrassed smile. “So, is this the same boy you’ve been stalking?”

Sherlock groans. “I wasn’t stalking him!” he exclaims and when Lestrade simply arches an eyebrow, he huffs. “I was just- trying to figure out the best way to approach him.”

The older man nods, a sly smile on his lips. “Nothing to be ashamed of, boy. First crushes are always difficult,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Some of us never really stop being awkward around the people we like, actually.”

Sherlock frowns, staring at the flowers once more. “Molly said flowers were a good idea.”

“Well, they’re a classic. Although as I said, I usually stick to roses.”

“And as we’ve already established, that’s because you’re dull and unimaginative,” Sherlock repeats, scrunching his nose in displeasure. “I’m not.”

Lestrade laughs once more. “Well, in any case, next time you should probably ask your parents for money, instead of stealing them.” Sherlock scoffs and the man shakes his head once more. “You don’t think they’ll mind, do you?” he asks gently, sounding actually worried, which makes the boy frown.

“No. Why would they?”

Lestrade shrugs. “Not all parents are understanding.” He sighs, looking away, “just wanted to make sure you’d be alright.”

Sherlock observes him in silence, thinking.

He’s definitely a decent fellow.

Better to keep Mycroft away from him, then. “You don’t need to take me home. I know my way around.”

Lestrade smiles brightly at him, a slightly dreamy look in his eyes. “I don’t doubt it lad, but I really need to talk to your parents about this.”

Sherlock groans. “They’re never around.”

“Your brother, then.”

Another groan. That’s even worse. “Why?”

Lestrade just arches an eyebrow and the boy sighs dramatically. “Fine. Whatever.”

And to think all this could have been avoided if he had had any money with him.

* * *

 

“What have you done this time?” Mycroft asks as soon as he opens the door and before Sherlock can start defending himself, Lestrade replies.

“Done some petty theft of his own,” he says with a bright smile and while Sherlock is glad his brother’s attention shifts away from him, he’s not particularly pleased with the reason behind it.

Mycroft turns to look at him once more, taking in the flowers he’s still holding close to his chest. “Oh, Sherlock,” he murmurs, shaking his head and the younger boy glares, holding his prize tight in case his brother attempts to take them away. “Go to your room, we’ll discuss this later.”

Sherlock’s eyes sweep between the two so-called adults, not really appreciating the way Lestrade is eying his brother. This will end up in nothing but disaster and that could be bad (for him) in the long run.

Oh well, there goes his contact at the Yard.

With a sight, he obeys and slinks into the house, slowly making his way to his bedroom, attempting to listen to the conversation between the older men without any success. He’s mostly curious, to be honest, and he supposes he needs to start figuring out how this  _ flirting  _ business works if he’s ever going to make any progress with John.

Then again… his brother might not be the best reference for such endeavours.

But who, then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, anyone?  
> Originally, the whole fic was going to run from Mycroft’s POV but I figured there were some things that would work better with Sherlock’s. This chapter isn’t quite as humorous as the first one, I think, but hopefully it was enjoyable anyway?  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Love is priceless (but that’s no excuse for stealing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which progress is make (somewhat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so here’s a new chapter! That was quick, wasn’t it? :P  
> I was going to wait till tomorrow to post, but I’m bad at waiting and perhaps tomorrow I’ll have a lot of work to do so… well. Enjoy?

“This isn’t one bit helpful.”

Mycroft sighs, attempting to ignore his younger brother’s calls from the other room. He has no idea what Sherlock is watching, but it doesn’t seem to involve murders, so he isn’t sure why he’d be interested in it. Still, it has kept him entertained for the last 2 hours and Mycroft knows better than to question anything that distracts Sherlock long enough to let him focus on his work.

He has just started working at the Prime Minister’s office and he’s determined to make an impression. Being involved in the government _is_ the family business and so his parents’ connections will continue to guarantee him employment until he’s old and completely gray, but there’s no reason not to have higher ambitions than a boring office job.

Besides, he’s going to need to be very well connected and have people owning him far too many favours if he’s going to keep Sherlock out of trouble once he’s older. The little menace is just bound to become a bigger one.

Sherlock groans loudly and he sighs, figuring there goes his peace and quiet. He stands up and heads into the library, where his parents keep, for some reason, the TV and an old VHS. “What are you doing?” he asks patiently, sparing a quick glance to the TV where some overly dramatic romantic scene is playing.

“Research,” Sherlock proclaims, pointing at the notebook on his lap. Mycroft sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly.

“Have you considered simply talking to him?” he asks, coming to sit next to his baby brother, who just pouts dramatically and proceeds to ignore him. Mycroft sighs, feeling tired of the subject already, but figuring that since he’s the older brother, he has a duty to impart some wisdom on the subject (even if he lacks any practical experience). “You can’t keep stealing flowers and then dropping them by his house.”

Sherlock shrugs non committedly. “That was once.”

“You can’t keep stealing flowers, chocolates and random trinkets, then,” he corrects himself dejectedly. “Gregory is-”

“Oh, he’s Gregory now, is he?” Sherlock questions, eyes shining with mischief. Mycroft glares, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, brother mine, but I assure you-”

“God, you’re truly pathetic,” the younger boy retorts casually. “At least I have a confused mess of preteen hormones. What’s your excuse?”

Mycroft blushes bright red. “It’s not like that.” Sherlock just arches an eyebrow and Mycroft is hard pressed not to huff and stomp out of the room petulantly. That would be childish. “He’s been nice to you and so I’ve been- I’m just-”

“Save your excuses for someone who might actually believe them,” Sherlock interrupts sharply, his attention back to the TV. “This isn’t helpful at all,” he repeats, glaring at the kissing pair on the screen.

“What are you watching?” Mycroft asks, knowing better than to continue arguing with his brother. Besides, he knows he’s right even if he’d rather not admit it out loud: he’s 19, far too old for a silly teenage crushes.

“Something Molly recommended,” Sherlock says, scrunching his nose in displeasure. “It’s just a bunch of nonsense,” he continues, his annoyance clear in his tone. “By all means, we should have a bunch of eligible suitors throwing themselves at our feet if this was true.” Mycroft blinks and Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Apparently, all you need to be a good catch is to have a small fortune.”

Mycroft blinks once more. “This is a period drama.”

“Your point?”

He shrugs. “Women didn’t have that many options back then. And a well off husband was the best way to make sure their lives were… agreeable enough.”

Sherlock frowns. “Well, this is not helpful at all then.”

A sigh. “I think you’re supposed to pick up cues on how the gentlemen behave in order to gain their beloved’s attention.”

“So… act detached and without a care in the world?”

“Apparently,” Mycroft says. “Although I rather think Mr. Darcy is supposed to be the perfect gentleman because he respects Elizabeth’s opinions and actually listens to her.” Sherlock is nodding along, not looking completely convinced. “He’s also unintentionally rude, so you may want to take note of _what not to say.”_

“Politeness,” Sherlock huffs. “How boring.”

“You might want to try it, if you’re going to continue with this… romantic endeavor of yours, little brother.” Sherlock glares and Mycroft smirks. “And I really _really_ think you should attempt to speak to him. It seems like the best place to begin with this… business.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “You’d know about that. How is it working talking about the things I get up to when you’re not looking? I don’t imagine it throws you under a particularly flattering light.”

Ah, but that’s not everything they discuss. And in any case, Mycroft is a master of embellishing the truth whenever needed. “At least he knows I exist,” he points out “and my name,” he adds, as Sherlock pouts.

Mycroft smiles, leaning back on his seat.

All in all, he thinks he’s doing rather well, actually.

Or so he likes to think.

* * *

 

He’s not doing well at all.

All it takes for his false self confidence to crumble is a quick smug smile from the handsome officer and Mycroft turns into a bumbling mess, incapable of stringing an easy sentence together. Of course Sherlock doesn’t need to know that (not ever), but it still stings on his pride.

He’s a born negotiator and a smooth talker, he can usually talk his way out of any sticky situation and convince people with just a few words. Whenever Gregory is around however-

Well. It’s embarrassing, really.

“You need to stop him from _stealing_ his presents,” Gregory is saying very seriously, but Mycroft can barely concentrate on the words, his mind far much more interested on the lips shaping them. “I can’t keep on charming the shop owners so they’ll let him go without throwing a big fuss. Or paying for the trinkets he _steals._ ”

Mycroft frowns. “I should pay you back for those.”

Gregory waves a hand vaguely. “It doesn’t matter; they’re never expensive. I just- why-?”

“I’ve been giving him money,” Mycroft assures him, because _he has._ Sherlock just has decided that stealing the presents is somehow more meaningful since he actually has to go through the trouble of getting them, instead of simply using their parents’ money.

It doesn’t make that much sense in Mycroft’s head, since Gregory has ended up paying for most of the presents anyway, but Sherlock’s brain works in funny ways. “He can’t keep up like this,” the officer tells him. “One of these days it’s going to be another officer the one at the scene and then-”

Unlikely, since Sherlock has probably already researched Gregory’s schedule, but he’s not about to tell the man that. “Of course. I’m terribly sorry about all the trouble he’s causing you, I really am.”

The man offers him a tired smile. “I don’t mind, not really. It’s just- I worry about him.”

And that’s the sort of thing that makes Mycroft’s heart flutter. He’s well aware his brother is _difficult_ and to meet someone who’s willing to go through the trouble of handling him, just out of sheer niceness-

Well. It does _things_ to his insides.

Which, admittedly, might be a tad odd, but he chooses not to focus on that.

“Shouldn’t you- tell your parents or something? He’s going to get in real trouble, Mycroft and that won’t end well. I mean- they probably could talk some sense into him, yes? I know how little brothers are, about not wanting to listen to you just because you’re older, but maybe-”

No, he doesn’t. He’s a single child, how could he know that? “I’m reluctant to tell Mummy,” he confesses quietly. “It’s- complicated.”

“You don’t think your parents will be mad, do you? I mean- not about the stealing part, but about it all being for another boy part?”

Mycroft isn’t sure, to be honest. He thinks their parents couldn’t care less about their sexual orientations, but that’s mostly because they’re not around enough to even notice. Still, they’ve never been particularly keen on either of them interacting much with the outside world (there’s a reason they were home schooled, after all) and Mummy and Dad might not like the idea of their little boy getting _distracted._

It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of that already, without adding another boy into the mix.

“Mycroft?”

“Mummy and Dad have very… specific ideas of what me and my brother should be doing with our lives. I think they’ll see this… _crush_ of him as nothing more than an inconvenient distraction.”

Gregory is frowning, evidently not liking his words. Mycroft offers him a small shrug: he knows his parents have high expectations and he knows better than to let them down, although it’s really not hardship for him. He has never liked other people anyway, always finding hard to _connect._ He just feels like he has no common ground with anyone.

But then-

“Have you ever dated?” Gregory asks bluntly and Mycroft finds himself gaping like a fish out of water. His cheeks are warming up and he guesses his silence is answer enough, for the other man carries on. “I just- I meant- I didn’t mean anything by it,” he assures him quickly. “I just- well. What you just said- it seems to suggest-”

“No, I haven’t,” Mycroft interrupts, full of false bravado. “Never saw the point.”

Gregory blinks, but finally nods, although he might look slightly dejected. “I see. Well, I just- I suppose it’s not for everyone, but your brother is evidently very interested in this John of his.”

He is. Even if he still hasn’t talked to the boy. “They haven’t even talked,” he murmurs, mostly to himself and Gregory laughs brightly, making his heart skip a beat.

“Sometimes you just know it,” he tells him confidently, an easy smile on his face. “One look and bam! you’re done for.” Mycroft smiles tightly, ignoring the way his stomach is clenching. He’s quite familiar with the feeling Gregory is describing, even if he’d never admit it to anyone.

“Doesn’t sound particularly smart,” he points out and the officer arches an eyebrow, apparently amused. “There’s only so much good looks can do for you,” he adds, noticing his cheeks are a little warm, but refusing to let his treacherous hormones get the best of him.

The other man nods thoughtfully. “Ah yes, one’s libido is never a good counselor.” He’s smiling though, probably remembering something and Mycroft hurries to shove his silly jealousy to the back of his mind. “It’s fun while it last, though,” he continues and Mycroft promptly tells himself he has no reason to be this angry, none whatsoever. “I don’t think that’s Sherlock’s case, though. He’d be too young for that, don’t you think?”

Too young for what, exactly? He doesn’t ask though, simply shrugging. “I just wish he’d attempt to talk to the boy,” he confesses softly. “I don’t- I fear that he’s nursing a ridiculous crush on someone he doesn’t know and he’ll become… disappointed, once he actually gets to know him.”

“Ah, yes.” Gregory nods, expression slightly sad, “the first heartbreak is always devastating, but considering he seems to have placed this boy in some sort of pedestal…” he waves a hand vaguely, shaking his head. “You have a fair point.”

Mycroft nods. For all of Sherlock’s talent at reading people, this is a whole new experience for him and he just doesn’t want him to get hurt. He knows heartbreak is painful (at least in theory) and he knows Sherlock is quite sensible, even if he likes to pretend otherwise.

He looks at the man standing in front of him and he bites his lip gently, thinking he’s inevitably going to find out firsthand just how awful heartbreak can be. It’s inevitable really, since there’s no way the other man will return his interest, but well-

At least they were actually on speaking terms.

“Anyway, I’d better go back to work,” the older man says suddenly, startling him out of his silent reverie. “Keep an eye on your brother, would you? People are going to start talking if I keep showing up here and spending a ridiculous amount of time chatting instead of doing any actual patrolling.”

Mycroft glances at his watch, noticing they have been talking for a long while indeed. “Thank you for everything, Gregory, really. I- I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble, but Sherlock-”

“He’s a handful,” he agrees lightly and Mycroft finds himself chuckling, although he stops the second he notices the officer’s fond look that he’s not completely certain how to interpret.

“That he is,” he says, biting his lip once more. “I wish there was some way I could repay you for everything you’ve done for him.”

The man laughs lightly. “Think nothing of it, really.” He’s all bright smiles and Mycroft’s silly heart won’t stop beating erratically. “And you could always buy me dinner one of these days.”

And with that he’s gone, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he makes his way towards the street.

For the longest time, Mycroft remains standing by the door, feeling a little dizzy. Did that just happened? Was that- Did he mean-?

“God, you’re disgusting,” Sherlock informs him very seriously, appearing out of thin air. “Being all lovey-dovey where everyone can see. Do you have no shame, Mycroft?”

The teen rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, brother mine.”

Sherlock smirks then and that doesn’t bode well for Mycroft’s future. “I have a date.”

“ _You have a_ _what_? How?” he demands, wondering when did this happen. Just this afternoon-

In lieu of an answer, Sherlock slides next to him and happily skips his way down the street.

It’ll be a couple of hours before Mycroft notices his wallet is missing and by then of course, it’ll be too late to do anything about it.

Oh well, as long as Sherlock is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> Are they horribly out of character? I keep wondering if I’m making them too… sappy for the sake of romance. I do want to write something lighthearted, but I’m not sure if it feels IC anyway.  
> Also, I know I promised just general fluffiness, but- angst as usual has sneaked upon me, so while things are looking hopeful… don’t get your hopes up. There’ll be a happy ending for sure, but there’ll be some bumps along the ride ;)  
> Thanks for reading!  
> On another note, may I remind you of the [FandomTrumpsHate auction](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) The bidding closes today, so you might want to check it out soon and [here’s](https://fandomtrumpshateofferings.tumblr.com/post/155747762717/ylc-fth-contributor-page) the link for my contributor post.


	4. Brilliant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock & John get to know each other (formally, that is)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wasn’t planning on updating today since I was supposed to be super busy. But I got kicked out of a project in the last minute (which pissed me off as you have no idea) and while I should be using this extra time to either write an essay or help my husband write his, well… I don’t feel like doing that. I hate writing academic stuff and I really  _ really  _ have no clue why I choose to study Economics if I can’t bring myself to read much about that. Anyway, in the end I decided to write fanfic since it’s far much more rewarding ;)
> 
> Sorry about my ramblings. Enjoy?

“Amazing.”

Sherlock preens under the praise, even if he attempts not to be too evident about it. He’s not used to be the smart one (that’s always been Mycroft, even if he disagrees to a point) and people rarely ever react well to his deductions (even when they’re useful and would help them solve a case far sooner). John however-

“You realize you’re saying that aloud, right?” he questions, attempting to look nonchalant and John laughs, throwing his head back. Sherlock finds himself quite interested on the long line of his neck, although he can’t say he truly understands what’s so interesting about it. Looks pretty average, if he stops to think about it, although-

“Molly should have introduced us  _ ages  _ ago,” John tells him with a kind smile that makes Sherlock’s stomach flutter. “You’re really- something else.”

Sherlock tries not to blush and fails miserably. John doesn’t seem to notice though, busy as he is finishing his chips. Sherlock is far too nervous to attempt eating, so he simply passes his to his new… acquaintance and watches him as he finishes them happily.

“I know I’ve said it already but I’m really sorry about those guys,” John continues, once he has finished his food. “I know they can be- well, asses.”

Sherlock shrugs. It isn’t the first time he’s been bullied and he suspects it won’t be the last, but luckily for him John had been around this time, quickly stopping his classmates from causing Sherlock any real damage. His sweater might be a little worse for wear, but it’s really nothing compared to the sort of stuff that has happened to him. 

It’s not really his fault, although he supposes he could try to be more- eh- careful about the things he says. People don’t seem to like having their secrets revealed, even when they’re trivial things like where they were instead of school or their silly crushes.

And yes, please ignore the irony.

In any case, Sherlock got a date out of the nasty ordeal, so that makes it worth it, he thinks.

“Well, I think it’s time I head home,” John informs him suddenly and Sherlock attempts to hide his disappointment. It’s not that late really, but he supposes it’s not very wise to be around John’s neighborhood late at night.

“Sure,” he replies with a casual shrug, thinking about the latest “gift” he had delivered. He had figured it wouldn’t be wise to always do it himself, in case someone saw him around and eventually figured it out, so he had employed a few kids from close neighborhoods who were all too happy to help in exchange for a few pounds.

He hopes John likes the tea. It’s from a fancy and overly expensive tea shop in Mayfair, but Sherlock knows for a fact that John drinks tea in the evenings (and yes, he’ll admit that sounds quite stalkery) and so-

Well, he had thought he would appreciate it. John seems much more inclined to like  _ practical  _ gifts; the flowers had ended up in the garbage bin the following day and John’s sister had taken for herself most of the plushies (John had kept a dog shaped one, though. Sherlock’s favorite one, if he must be honest.)

“Can I have your number?” John asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket and Sherlock’s heart skips a beat. He knows it’s silly and hardly means anything, but- 

He takes the phone from John’s hand and hurries to type his number, willing his hands not to shake. John offers him a small smile before slipping his phone back into his pocket and waves as he makes his way down the street. Sherlock remains sitting very still where he is until John is way out of sight and then releases the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

That was… wow.

He giggles, incapable of holding himself back. He hadn’t been expecting this when he had made his usual trip to the library, but he can’t deny he’s quite pleased with the outcome. He’s not exactly happy with the circumstances of his formal introduction to John Watson, but he supposes it’s good enough. After all, he has been getting the other boy little gifts for the  _ last month  _ and he had yet to figure out a strategy to approach him, so-

All in all, it worked out for the best.

He smiles to himself as he starts making his way back home. It’s a little later than usual, but Mycroft usually doesn’t ask where he has been, assuming that if there was any trouble Sherlock would have called him (or Lestrade would be the one delivering him). Which is good, because he’s really not quite ready to discuss today’s events.

Not that he’s very inclined to do that with his brother anyway, but well- who else is he going to talk to? Mummy?

He huffs. The mere idea is ridiculous and he’d rather get involved into another fight than attempt to discuss  _ feelings _ with Mummy. Mycroft might not have a clue of  _ what emotions are or how they work,  _ but at least he won’t treat him like he’s defective for wanting some affection.

There’s always Molly, of course. He remembers the girl’s knowing smile as he and John made their way out of the library and promptly discards the idea. He knows she’ll mean well, but she’ll tease him and well- Sherlock isn’t quite sure he can take that at this stage.

None of that matters, though. What is important is that now John knows he exists and he has his number and-

Oh. He didn’t ask for John’s.

Panic quickly settles in, but he hurries to try to calm himself, reasoning that he can always ask for it the next time he sees John. They’re- acquaintances now, so he supposes that it’d be fine if he just sat by the other boy at the library, wouldn’t it? Yes, probably. So it doesn’t really matter.

Or at least that’s what he wants to believe.

 

* * *

 

A group of John’s classmates had been sitting in a corner of the library, being quite raucous. Molly had asked them to keep it down more than once, but the teens had refused to listen and they had been quite rude to Molly, so Sherlock had decided to step in. He knew by experience that people tended to get annoyed when he started deducing their lives and so they tended to vacate the premises. Unfortunately, these particular group had gotten annoyed and attempted to take their frustration out on Sherlock.

Molly had called for security then, but John had stepped in before the grown ups arrived. Despite being younger than all of the other kids, they had listened to him, even if it made them even more annoyed. Sherlock had figured John was one of this “popular” kids that others are always a little too eager to get on their good side.

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

But then- then John had started asking questions and Sherlock had explained his reasoning and after a few “brilliant” and “amazing” and “fantastic”... well, Sherlock had been even more in love than before. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but evidently he has much to learn on the subject of love.

And oh, how he wants to learn about it with John Watson.

He sighs, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Today was- eventful, to say at least. He’s happy, very much so; happier than he can ever remember being. The world seems a little brighter and he’s full of hope.

Of course it might all come to nothing and he should keep that in mind, but he can’t stop himself from daydreaming of an even brighter future. He giggles once more, his joy just too great to keep it inside.

Today was a good day.

 

* * *

 

John is sitting at the porch, headphones on, evidently trying to distract himself from all the yelling coming from within his home. Sherlock watches him in silence, his heart aching in ways he doesn’t understand. He wishes there was something he could do to make the other boy feel better, but he also understands that showing out of the blue right now won’t do him any favours.

Particularly since John hasn’t technically told him where he lives, so he guesses it’ll also be a bit- stalkery.

A loud crash makes John flinch and Sherlock presses himself closer to the tree behind which he’s hiding, hoping he won’t be noticed. It’s not like John is paying much attention to his surroundings, but-

His phone starts ringing then, startling him. When he takes it out, he finds a text from an unknown number and his heart skips a beat when he reads it.

_ Are you up for some chips?- JW _

He hurries to leave his hiding place and makes his way downtown before answering. He feels oddly giddy, although he doesn’t think he should. But then, John is having a bad day and he decided to  _ text him, asking to spend time with him  _ and-

Surely that means something, doesn’t it?

 

* * *

 

After another “shopping trip” that ends with Lestrade escorting him back home, Sherlock considers his options. He guesses he can stop with the gifts now, since he and John are now on speaking terms and so he could probably- express his interest otherwise (although he has no idea how). But then he remembers John’s pleased look whenever he happens to discover a little trinket waiting for him from his  _ secret admirer  _ (Molly’s idea) and thinks better of it. He guesses he can keep up with the gifts and also come up with other ways to let John know about his… affection.

He listens to his brother and Lestrade at the door, rolling his eyes every now and then. All that Lestrade is missing is a neon sign that says “I like you Mycroft Holmes” and yet his brother seems to miss every clue. By the time Mycroft proudly announces he has never seen the point of dating, Sherlock has buried his face under the sofa cushions.

God, how can the man be so oblivious?

_ Who’s the idiot now, big brother? _ he thinks, with a big smirk on his face. A text alert distracts him from listening to the rest of the conversation, his whole focus on John’s message now.  _ Same place?- JW. _

**_Be there in 15- SH_ **

He springs out of the couch and is happy to notice Lestrade is leaving. He considers the officer’s words about dinner and wonders if he should treat John to something fancier than their usual chips. Of course he’ll need money for that and while Mycroft has been providing him with plenty funds for gifts, he’s not quite sure he can afford dinner at Angelo’s. Not that Angelo will mind if he tells him to write it down on Mycroft’s tab of course, but he’s trying to impress someone here!

Oh well. Mycroft is unlikely to notice his missing wallet.

And Sherlock needs it more than him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I’m worried it’s a little confusing, so I should let you know that the whole chapter takes place before the last scene from the previous one. A bit of how Sherlock got his date, although I’m not sure if it feels a little rushed and all over the place.  
> Let me know what you thought? Do I need to be a bit more clear? Am I confusing you guys?  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. It’s not easy "dating" a Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock doesn't know how to stay out trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I started working on this chapter yesterday, but got distracted by another plot bunny (an alternate scene for TFP) and well… I’m sorry.  
> Enjoy?

As baffled as he is by his little brother’s ability not only to get _one_ _date_ but _several_ in the course of the last two months, Mycroft decides not to ask questions, letting things progress as they would normally do. Of course he’s more than a little curious about this John character, but he does know that pressing Sherlock for answers will get him nowhere and so he waits patiently, hoping his brother will talk to him whenever he feels ready to do it.

But the weeks continue to pass and Sherlock seems forever glued to his phone, texting John at insane hours and Mycroft starts becoming slightly concerned. He doesn’t want to meddle, he really doesn’t, but he’s well aware of Sherlock’s… not strictly healthy way of handling stuff, so he worries this _interest_ of him will take a turn for the worse.

And so he decides it’s time to meet this John Watson. Sherlock won’t be happy when he finds out about his friend’s… abduction but if he’s not going to talk to him, Mycroft will have to resort to drastic measures.

It’s just part of his sibling’s duties, after all.

* * *

 

It does John a lot of credit when he doesn’t even bat an eyelash when he’s summoned via mysterious phone call. He’s nervous, Mycroft can tell, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead he sits in the car Mycroft sent for him, making idle chat with his assistant, being all polite and _charming,_ managing to make Anthea _smile_ at him.

Good Lord, his poor brother definitely never stood a chance

Meanwhile, Mycroft waits inside a warehouse, because god knows Sherlock isn’t the only Holmes that enjoys being dramatic. Anthea sends the boy over with a pleased smile, laughing at whatever he tells her as goodbye and Mycroft’s heart aches for his little brother. Sherlock has never been any good at _sharing,_ so he suspects he’s up for a lot of heartbreak in the future.

But who knows? He might finally learn to control that possessive strike of his and wouldn’t that be wonderful?

“So… which Bond film did you escape from?” John asks, sounding more amused than scared. Mycroft arches an eyebrow, deciding right away that he does approve of his brother’s choice of… whatever, even if he’s not entirely sure Sherlock can handle the other boy in the long run.

“Mr. Watson,” Mycroft greets politely, opening the folder he has on the boy. He usually doesn’t like using his contacts for silly things like this, but then again if his baby brother is going to continue his association with this young man-

Well. Better be prepared. “I don’t think we know each other,” the blond says, looking perfectly cool and collected, but he has to be nervous. After all, he’s been, for all intents and purposes, kidnapped and brought to an abandoned warehouse where a strange man is waiting for him.

It would just be natural. And yet- “Not formally, no. But we have a mutual… acquaintance.”

John frowns, now looking slightly more worried. “Oh?”

“What’s your relationship with Sherlock Holmes?”

The boy looks surprised now, eyes sweeping over Mycroft, trying to figure out what’s up with him. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he replies, attempting to sound calm, but his voice shakes a little. He’s… _concerned_ about Sherlock apparently.

Funny, that. He wasn’t particularly worried before, but now that Sherlock has been mentioned- “Oh, but it is,” Mycroft affirms calmly, taking a step closer to the younger boy and the other steps back right away. Mycroft smirks, “you see Mr. Watson, I’m very interested in Sherlock’s… well being. Therefore, I make a point of _always_ knowing what’s going on in his life.”

“Maybe you should ask him, then,” John replies defiantly, back very straight; concerned, yes, but _unafraid._

Mycroft laughs. “If only that’d work,” he says, still smirking. “But I could pay you a handsome sum for keeping me informed. Nothing too outward, of course, simply-”

“No,” John utters and Mycroft arches an eyebrow.

“You might want to think about it, Mr. Watson,” Mycroft argues in his most persuasive tone. “You and your family could use the money,” he adds, eyes sweeping over the boy’s clothes and he blushes furiously then, his economic situation obviously a sore subject.

“The answer is still no,” he says, stubbornly proud, but there’s more than that.

“You’re very loyal, very fast,” Mycroft comments off handedly and the boy huffs. No, that’s not completely true. Even without the school’s counselor's notes, he can tell he finds hard to trust people. He’s nice and polite, but not exactly friendly, preferring to be on his own, even when there’s so much people eager to be around him. With Sherlock though-

He trusts him, yes, but more importantly, he cares for him. He’s not scared of what Mycroft might do to him, but he’s worried about what could happen to Sherlock. For some reason, he has decided the younger boy’s well being is more important than his.

“We’ll be seeing each other very soon, Mr. Watson,” he declares calmly, smirk still firmly in place. “For now though, have a pleasant day.”

John looks wary, but turns around sharply, leaving the place hurriedly. He’s still not scared, but he’s concerned and Mycroft can tell he’s already preparing a text for Sherlock, letting him know about what has just happened.

He rubs his temples tiredly. He knows he’s going to have a very angry brother to deal with.

But it really couldn’t have been helped.

* * *

 

“You will not kidnap my friend again!” Sherlock yells at the top of his lungs, as soon as he walks into the house. Mycroft sighs, closing his book and getting ready for an argument. “I’m serious, Mycroft.”

“My dear brother, surely you can see-”

“No, I can’t!” Sherlock interrupts him sharply. “I haven’t attempted to interrogate Lestrade over his intentions with you- although they’re pretty evident, anyway. Kindly extend me the same courtesy.”

Mycroft is blushing, although he’s not quite sure why. “Gregory doesn’t- I don’t- it’s not the same, Sherlock!”

The younger boy rolls his eyes dramatically. “Stay away from John,” he warns darkly, before storming out of the room, slamming the door on his way out and Mycroft sighs, rubbing his temples once more.

Well. That went better than he expected.

* * *

 

“A serial arsonist.”

Sherlock sticks out his chin defiantly, glaring at him. Mycroft takes a deep breath, willing himself not to strangle his little brother, particularly not with half of Scotland Yard as witnesses. “Sherlock, that was insane,” he says slowly, trying not to yell, knowing it won’t help one bit.

“We were perfectly safe,” Sherlock insists stubbornly, looking at John for support. The boy is also glaring at Mycroft, some residual anger from the last encounter, he supposes.

“You were chasing a serial arsonist!” Mycroft gives up on trying to stay calm. “Of course you weren’t safe! What the hell were you thinking, Sherlock? You could have gotten both of you killed or seriously injured! You can not- we’ve talked about this, you’re not supposed to chase criminals on your own-”

“I wasn’t-”

“John doesn’t count!” Mycroft snaps, losing every semblance of calm he ever had. “For god’s sake, you’re both children!”

“Lestrade was with us,” John murmurs softly, also defiant despite the fact that he’s probably a bit scared. They almost got trapped in a bloody fire, after all.

Yes, and that’s a bit of troublesome news Mycroft isn’t sure how to process. He’ll have _words_ with the man soon, of course, but right now- “You can not-”

“Mr. Holmes,” he turns around, coming face to face with an older gentleman, who looks as tired as Mycroft himself feels. He offers the Inspector a tentative smile, but the man simply frowns.

That doesn’t bode well. “Inspector Gregson, I assure you-”

“I think he’s gone a bit too far this time, Mr. Holmes,” the older officer says very seriously and Mycroft can feel his heart dropping to his feet. “I’m afraid I’ll have to call your parents this time around. Maybe even bring them in.”

Mycroft is fairly certain he’s about to be ill. Out of all the possible outcomes, that’s definitely one of the worst: Mummy will be livid when she finds out what Sherlock has been up to and she- she-

Well. There’s no telling what she might do then.

“Inspector, I’m sure we can-”

“Mr. Holmes, your brother could have gotten killed tonight! What’s worse, this time he managed to drag another boy into this madness! I’ve been far too considerate and it’s obvious-”

“You wouldn’t listen to me!” Sherlock protests, sounding a bit panicked and Mycroft wants to tell him to shut up and not make it worse, but he knows it’s useless. “Last time, you said-”

“Enough!” Gregson exclaims, his round face completely red. Sherlock snaps his mouth shut, looking somewhere between angry and hurt. “You’ve gone too far this time, young man.”

“With all due respect, sir,” a new voice interrupts and Mycroft turns to look at the newcomer, feeling oddly comforted by the older man’s presence, although he has not idea why. “While what they did was reckless, they did call the police into the scene-”

“And then proceed to chase after the arsonist anyway!”

“Well, yes, but I-”

“If you want to keep your job, Mr. Lestrade, you’ll be very careful with your next words.”

Gregory clenches his jaw, but soldiers on. “Inspector Gregson, I do think you’re being too harsh on the kids. They did catch the arsonist, after all.”

“And burned a building to the ground while at it!”

“It’s not like you would have done it better!” Sherlock exclaims. “Rogers saw us coming and panicked; the outcome wouldn’t have been any different had police officers been involved.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Of course I do! You just-”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft snaps, knowing his brother isn’t helping his case one bit. “I’m terribly sorry, Inspector,” he repeats with his best repent face, voice small. “Please, just this once-”

“Mr. Holmes-”

“It won’t happen again,” he assures the older man, trying to sound persuasive. “Please.”

The older man sighs. Thing is, Inspector Gregson is a good man and he has dealt with their parents. He knows that if they were to find out about this, the results wouldn’t be pretty and he’s too kind hearted to be willing to put them through that, unless it’s strictly necessary.

“Last chance, Mr. Holmes.”

“Yes, yes, of course Inspector. I’m really sorry-”

Gregson waves a hand vaguely. “Just make sure to keep him out of trouble. And that friend of his- next time I’ll also have to call his parents, so better watch out for him too.”

John tenses at the mention of his parents and Sherlock looks guilty. Mycroft nods tightly, feeling relieved despite it all. “Of course, sir. Thank you, Inspector.”

The man nods, turning to Gregory then. “You might as well escort them home now, Constable.”

“Of course, sir,” the officer says with a shy smile. “I’ll make sure they arrive safely home.”

Gregson rolls his eyes, but doesn’t add anything, going back to his office where the paperwork from the arsonist case is waiting for him. Mycroft finds himself breathing easier, now that the worst is past them.

Now, to deal with his little brother-

Maybe the worst isn’t quite past them.

* * *

 

In the end, he lets Sherlock and John retreat to the first’s bedroom, both apparently too tired due all the running they did. He asks John if he should be calling his parents, receiving an eyeroll for his troubles. Sherlock however does look concerned and he can hear them talking in hushed whispers, his little brother apparently actually not wanting to cause John any trouble.

He sighs, rubbing his temples. They obviously care for each other, but he’s beginning to think that that might not be a good thing after all. Sherlock has always been far too reckless, not caring about a thing other than solving whatever “puzzle” he’s entertaining himself with. John doesn’t seem very inclined to put a stop to his nonsense and then-

Well. Mycroft isn’t sure what to do about that.

“I’ll admit that what they did was a bit reckless, but they did call me for back up.”

Mycroft closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, willing himself to keep calm. “And you didn’t think of stopping them?”

Gregory has the audacity to laugh. “You think I could have? They were already inside the building when they called, so I could do nothing other than follow them. And call for reinforcements, obviously.”

Mycroft sighs. “I just- I just wish he was more careful.”

The other man nods. “Well, yes. Before you arrived we had already discussed how he shouldn’t be entertaining himself with looking for dangerous criminals, but I’m afraid Sherlock is a bit- stubborn.” Mycroft snorts and Gregory chuckles. “So we’ve come to an arrangement of sorts. I never thought I would be bribing a twelve-year-old with cold cases, but well- life can be pretty strange sometimes.”

Mycroft hums, not sure how is he supposed to react to that. “Thank you for saving them, though.”

Gregory nods, a dashing smile on his face and Mycroft urges himself not to get distracted with such nonsense. For a few seconds they do nothing but stare at each other and Mycroft can feel his cheeks heating, although he firmly tells himself now is not the time for this. His treacherous hormones however, as always when Gregory is involved, refuse to listen.

“I- there’s something I-” Gregory begins and Mycroft can feel his heartbeat picking up speed. It’s ridiculous, he knows, and yet- “About- well, when Inspector Gregson said he was going to call your parents-”

Oh, that.

He shakes his head in an attempt to shake off his silly thoughts. He’s not one to get lost in ridiculous daydreams normally, but Gregory’s presence seems to be perjudicial to his logic, not to mention his common sense. “As I’ve said before, I’m not entirely sure they’ll be… pleased with Sherlock’s new friend. In the past, when they have been called by the police about something Sherlock has done, the consequences have been… less than pleasant. Now though- I fear it’ll end messily.”

“What-?”

“Well, as you know, it’s impossible to keep Sherlock from doing whatever he wants. So the solution would be…” he trails off, looking away. “My parents have too many connections. It just won’t end well.”

Gregory nods, looking wary. “I don’t think-” he gulps, looking away too. “I don’t mean to intrude but that doesn’t seem very… fair.”

Mycroft shrugs. “There are certain rules to be followed. As long as we do- they’re not around enough to care about how else we choose to occupy our time.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Sherlock knows this, but he finds it... harder to do as expected. He’s too- curious, intrepid, reckless, whatever you want to call him.”

Saying it out loud leaves him with a nasty taste in his mouth, thinking it does sound awful. But it’s not, he doesn’t think, or at least it hasn’t been to him. As for Sherlock- well, he has tried his best to give him a bit more of freedom than what he was given, but-

It’s not enough, apparently.

“Well, I suppose- I suppose we’d better keep them out of trouble, huh?” Gregory says, sounding awkward, stepping closer to him. “You know I’ll help in any way I can, right?”

Yes, but why? Mycroft doesn’t understand it and he’s not sure he really wants to. He has no time for _sentiment_ and what’s more, he knows it might put him in a difficult situation with his parents if he allows himself to be distracted, but-

“Thank you, Gregory. For everything.”

As the older man offers him a bright smile, Mycroft thinks he’d be willing to risk it.

Which just goes showing how detrimental Gregory’s presence is for his common sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I’m not painting the Holmes parents as very nice people, am I? But then, I’m terribly annoyed by their reaction at the end of TFP, so… there’s that.  
> Angst is coming our way in the next chapter, although I have yet to decide which form will it take first. I guess we’ll see what I’m the mood for writing ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Ignorance is bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock discovers things might not be as easy as he thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It is ridiculously short but well… I’m afraid I run a bit out of inspiration in the middle of it. Enjoy anyway?

“I’m home!” John announces as they walk through the door, his greeting ritual something that never ceases to puzzle Sherlock. Half of the time there’s no one home when they walk in and if someone happens to be, they barely get a grunt of acknowledgment.

It seems like a senseless exercise, but there are things he’d rather not question. His… friendship with John is still on its early stages and he wouldn’t want to upset the delicate balance they have managed to achieve.

“Ah, your posh friend is here.”

Sherlock offers Mrs. Watson a wary smile, secretly enjoying the way John immediately places himself between him and his mother in a protective gesture. Mrs. Watson doesn’t like him, he knows, but that has more to do with his privileged background than with anything he has said or done.

He thinks it’s weird and unfair, but it’s another subject that he figures shouldn’t be discussed.

“Yes,” John replies calmly. “He’s going to help me study for Chemistry.”

Sherlock nods, his polite smile firmly in place. It’d never do to upset his friend’s mother, no matter what. As shaky as John’s relationship with his family is, he gets oddly defensive when someone dares to mention something not-so-nice about them.

Mrs. Watson rolls her eyes, before disappearing back into the kitchen. John sighs, relieved and hurries to climb up the stairs, Sherlock following closely. He can hear the sound of the TV somewhere in the living room and he figures Mr. Watson has come home early.

He shouldn’t have come, really.

But John had asked him to help him to study for his Chemistry test and Sherlock just couldn’t say no. He doesn’t like going to John’s house: it has nothing to do with the poor and dangerous neighborhood and all to do with John’s… difficult parents, but his friend isn’t exactly comfortable with being at Sherlock’s house either and so-

Well, here we are.

Although he still thinks his house would have worked better. Mycroft is out (he doesn’t know where) and his parents are gone (In Egypt, he thinks), so they would have had the whole place to themselves and John wouldn’t have needed to feel self conscious.

But well, it’s too late for that, he supposes.

“So, what are you having trouble with?” he asks, sitting on the bed. John drops his backpack somewhere near the door and starts looking for his Chemistry notes, murmuring something under his breath and Sherlock can’t help the fond smile that comes unbidden to his lips.

God, he loves him so much.

He shakes his head, chasing the thought away. They’re friends now and that’s good enough. He shouldn’t allow himself to get lost in his little fantasy world of daydreams. Maybe one day they can become more, but for now-

For now this is more than enough.

* * *

 

Dinner is a tense affair, as it ever is when Sherlock is over. He wouldn’t have stayed, of course, but Mr. Watson had seen him when he was trying to sneak out and had practically forced him to sit down.

The Watson patriarch is a curious man. He’s a drunk, yes, but he’s not a mean drunk and he keeps a watchful eye on his money, making sure his family’s needs are covered before buying his vice. Sherlock likes him far much more than Mrs. Watson, who is mean and petty and is actually having an affair with some nasty bloke that will eventually tear her family apart.

Of course he hasn’t tell John any of that. His friend does know about his father’s drinking habit, but not about how bad it is (he’s developed cirrhosis, although he’s not in treatment) and certainly doesn’t know about his mother’s affair.

Normally he’d find hard to keep his deductions to himself, but this is John’s family and he doesn’t want to hurt his friend. Besides, it’s not like  _ knowing _ will benefit him in any way and so Sherlock prefers to let him live in ignorance.

How does the saying goes?

Oh, yes.

Ignorance is bliss.

* * *

 

Waiting for John outside school is something new, but Sherlock doesn’t think his friend will mind. It’s just- well. He knows it’s silly; they did see each other a couple of days ago and they’ve been texting nonstop but-

He misses him.

So he waits outside the school’s door, getting more and more nervous with each minute that passes. He glances at the time on his phone and forces himself not to start pacing. He wants to look cool and aloof when John spots him, not like the nervous mess he is.

This whole  _ sentiment  _ thing is really inconvenient.

The bell finally rings and Sherlock’s heart skips a beat. He had always thought the phrase was figurative, but he can literally feel his heart stop for a second before restarting. It’s odious and lovely at the same time, his stomach feeling filled with butterflies. He simultaneously wants to never feel this way again and to continue feeling like this forever.

John Watson and his  _ feelings  _ for him are a study in contrasts.

He finally spots John among the throng of students and he smiles besottedly, heart beating erratically now. He attempts to compose his expression, not wanting to look too eager, afraid John will notice and-

Well. He’s still unsure of where exactly he’s standing with John, so he figures it’s better not to press his luck.

It turns out he didn’t need to worry, however. John hasn’t noticed him, busy as he is talking to the pretty blond girl walking next to him. She’s shorter than him, with bright eyes and charming smile and Sherlock’s heart falls to his feet when John smiles at her. 

This, he thinks, it’s an scenario he didn’t contemplate.

The girl says something, smiling in what Sherlock supposes is a coquettish way and John chuckles. His smile is fond and his gaze keen, obviously interested on whatever the girl is saying. Or rather, interested in her and therefore willing to hear whatever she has to say.

Sherlock thinks he’s going to be sick.

Just then, John finally spots him and his smile is so bright, Sherlock is blinded by it. He quickly apologises to the girl, leaving her behind as he hurries to make his way towards him. Sherlock finds himself breathing easier, although the ache in his chest lingers. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but-

John greets him as if nothing had happened and Sherlock supposes technically nothing has.

And yet-

* * *

 

As he watches John with the blond girl (Mary, her name is Mary he has learned), Sherlock finds himself seething with jealousy. It’s ridiculous, he knows, but he can’t help himself. He remains carefully hidden behind one of the bookcases, stuck with watching John from afar once more, if only because he’s unwilling to go and interrupt John’s… date?

He somehow knows John won’t react well to that.

He had known he and John weren’t really dating, although it had felt like that. He had supposed they were too young for that anyway and so he hadn’t been disappointed when the other boy didn’t take his hand or kissed his cheek. They spent a lot of time together, talking and being each other’s confident and Sherlock had thought it was enough. That as time went by, things would progress naturally and eventually-

He gulps, forcing himself to look away when Mary giggles at whatever John tells her.

He seems to have made a huge miscalculation, though.

He believes that  _ love is love _ and so he hadn’t even taken into consideration that his gender might pose an obstacle for his relationship with John to become something other than friendship. He hadn’t bothered himself with silly things as  _ sexual orientation,  _ not believing it was something that could matter at all.

He was, it seems, sadly mistaken.

Of course it’s not John’s fault if he can’t see Sherlock that way because he happens to be a boy. It’s not Sherlock’s either, because one doesn’t choose who to fall in love with. And that- the fact that he’s in love but now knows he’ll never be loved back, is what hurts the most.

He sighs, turning around sharply and exiting the library. There’s no point on continuing torturing himself like this, even if some part of him  _ wants to.  _ No, he needs to leave now, before he becomes overwhelmed with his sentiments and ends up doing something he’ll later regret.

He can’t lose John completely.

So he needs to step back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I know, I know, I promised it would be happy! But well… I love drama and angst and well-   
> But it’ll work out, I promise!  
> Pretty please tell me what you thought? Am I being too “evil”? Am I forcing angst for angst sake? Is there something in particular you’d like to see? A bit of what I’m planning next: I’m writing a chapter on why chocolate is good for your soul and another that revolves a bit on their messed up families.  
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chocolate is the best medicine for a broken heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Quick, ain’t I?  
> A short note before we begin. I know the timeline is fuzzy at best, so some clarifications: it’s been around 10 months since Greg and Mycroft first met, 8 since John and Sherlock became friends. You’ll see why that’s important in a bit.  
> Anyway enjoy and also... keep an open mind? :P

Mycroft paces anxiously in front of the door, glancing at his watch every 5 minutes or so, taking his phone out shortly after to check for any incoming messages or calls. So far he’s only gotten a call from work (some minor inconvenience with some paperforms of all things) and he’s getting more and more anxious with each passing minute.

By the time the grandfather clock in the living room announces it’s past midnight, he’s officially panicking.

Sherlock never stays out this late. Close to midnight, yes, if there’s something particularly interesting holding his attention, but he’s considered enough of his poor brother’s nerves and so has agreed to never stay out later than midnight.

Mycroft bites his lip nervously until he makes it bleed, although he barely notices. He shouldn’t give Sherlock this much freedom; he’s just a kid after all. Midnight is far too late for him to be out and about and when he comes home he’s going to tell him as much. 

_ If  _ he comes home.

He finally gives into his panic and takes out his phone, ready to call in whatever favours are needed, even from his contacts at MI6 if necessary, just desperate to find his baby brother. For all he knows he might be hurt, or in danger, or-

As he strolls down his contacts, he stops on Gregory’s name. He’s a police officer, after all and so it’s not completely crazy to call him, is it? Of course he has more effective methods of finding Sherlock, but none of his contacts will hold themselves back from calling their parents and he knows there’ll be hell to pay if they found about Sherlock’s late night exploring.

He restarts his nervous pacing, wondering what to do. On one hand, he’s deadly worried about his little brother. On the other, their parents will kill them if they find out about this.

With a sigh, he dials Gregory’s number.

He’ll have to do for now.

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later and Gregory is still not answering his bloody phone, despite Mycroft’s constant calls. Of course it’s past midnight and he understands the man might be sleeping, but he’s quickly getting desperate and that won’t end well for anyone involved.

Just when he’s losing hope, figuring he’s going to have go looking for Sherlock on his own (he’s decided he’s not asking any of his other contacts just yet), Gregory answers with a sleepy “What?”

His voice sounds slurred, but Mycroft supposes that’s because he’s still half asleep. “I’m sorry for calling you this late,” he says quickly, polite despite his desperation. “But I- Sherlock is missing and I don’t know who else to call.”

Well, that wasn’t what he was planning on saying.

“Shit, Mycroft. It’s past midnight, why didn’t you call me sooner?” there’s the sound of him getting up and Mycroft feels slightly relieved, somehow knowing that he’s not alone in this making him feel much better.

“He’s never- he usually comes home before midnight,” he tries to explain softly. “I just- I didn’t think-”

Gregory hums and Mycroft figures he’s not really paying attention to his words, mostly focused on getting dressed and ready to head towards Mycroft’s house. He closes his eyes, thankful for his  _ friend’s? _ support, when he hears a woman’s voice in the background.

“I’ve got to go,” Gregory is saying. “No, it’s work, I can’t- really Allison, now’s not the time-” the woman keeps protesting, although Mycroft can’t quite make sense of the words, they’re far too muffled. “Yep, I’ll see you later.” Was that- did they just-

Mycroft closes his eyes, forcing himself to focus. Sherlock is missing and that must be his greatest concern. Gregory’s personal life is none of his business and so if he has kissed his companion goodbye or not is not something that should matter to him.

His heart seems to disagree, but Mycroft hurries to ignore the ache in his chest.

He has bigger problems than his breaking heart.

 

* * *

 

“Have you called John?” Gregory asks, after 20 minutes of searching around the neighborhood and not having any luck. Mycroft rubs his temples tiredly; he wasn’t really expecting they’d find his brother so quickly, but with each passing minute he keeps getting more and more anxious.

At Gregory’s question he wonders why he hadn’t thought of that earlier. He should have called John; if anyone has any inkling of his brother’s whereabouts, it’s likely it’ll be his best (and only) friend.

The phone rings twice before John picks up. “What, Mycroft?”

Charming, really. Although- “How did you know it was me?” Mycroft finds himself stupidly asking and then decides his little slip is product of his worry, so he shouldn’t concern himself with it. “Nevermind that. Where’s Sherlock?”

There a long pause on the other side of the line, while John presumably gets out of the bed and then the sound of a window closing. Mycroft frowns, ready to repeat his question when John’s voice comes once more. “What do you mean?” John whispers urgently. “Isn’t he home with you?”

Mycroft takes a deep breath, willing himself not to panic (again). “At what time did my brother leave you, John?” he questions softly, not wanting to startle the other boy and worry him more.

“I didn’t see him today,” John answers, sounding concerned. “Where are you? I’ll come over and-”

Oh, no, no, no. That’s a bad idea. “It’s fine, John. Gregory is helping me look around. Just- if he happens to contact you-”

“No, Mycroft, listen-”

“I’m not having you sneak out of your house so you can help me track my brother!” Mycroft snaps, thinking this call was a bad idea. He doesn’t need to involve a child on the search; that would be more than a little irresponsible.

John hufs. “Fine,” he replies darkly. “But if you haven’t found him in the morning, I’m helping.”

That sounds far more reasonable. “Alright. Just- Alright. I’ll have him call you as soon as I find him.”

A sigh and Mycroft wonders if John is half as worried as himself. The answers, he thinks, it’s a sound  _ yes  _ and that warms his heart. “Call me,” John urges him before hanging up and Mycroft sighs, thinking they all have a long night ahead from them.

Just where the hell has Sherlock gone?

“Where did he say he was going when he left?” Gregory asks, his tone calm and reasonable, no doubt trying to get Mycroft to calm down too. It’s not really helping, since he has already worked himself into a panic, but trying to think logically might help a bit.

“The library. I thought he was meeting John there,” he answers, as he searches his memory for any clues. Sherlock looked perfectly normal, not at all as if he was planning on doing something reckless. He didn’t think- there was nothing that suggested-

“Hey, hey.” Gregory’s hands are on each side of his face, gaze deathly serious. “Breath, Mycroft. You need to breath.” Mycroft nods and attempts to do just that. “Alright. Is there some place he goes when he- I don’t know, he’s feeling a bit- upset or overwhelmed?”

The library. And-

Oh.

“I think I know where he is,” Mycroft says, heart heavy. He wonders what happened to his brother that was so bad that he decided a visit to the pet cemetery was in order, but he knows that’s where they’ll find him.

 

* * *

 

“Seriously?” Gregory asks while they make their way through the well cared thombs, careful not to misstep. Mycroft shrugs, looking around, searching for his little brother. “Why would he be here?”

Mycroft takes a deep breath, not really keen on sharing that particular story, but- “When Sherlock was 3, I got him a puppy for his birthday,” he says, careful to keep himself ahead from the officer so he might not see how the story pains him. “It took me a bit to save enough money for it but- Sherlock was lonely and wanted a friend to play with, so I thought- it seemed like a good idea.” He closes his eyes, the memory of his baby brother running with the little pup chasing after him hurting far too much. “Mummy didn’t like it.”

He risks a look over his shoulder at Gregory and promptly looks away. The man is standing a few feet apart, a concerned look on his face and Mycroft can’t handle it. “They put him to sleep. Sherlock- he was devastated after that, he wouldn’t- he made me help him dug a grave for him behind our house and he’d sit at the improvised grave for the longest time. He didn’t- I couldn’t-” he’s getting emotional and that’ll never do. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to start walking once more. “Anyway, that was back when we were living in Sussex. Once we moved to London- sometimes, when Sherlock was feeling overly upset, he’d come here. It’s- I don’t know, I think- I think it’s his way of not feeling quite so alone.” He shrugs, hurrying to wipe off the tear that has managed to escape his eye. “I’m not sure if that makes sense, but-”

There’s suddenly a hand over his shoulder and he forces himself not to lean into the contact, knowing he’ll break if he does. Sherlock had been so sad when Redbeard had been put down and he- he couldn’t do nothing to- he had failed him so horribly-

“Let’s find your brother,” Gregory murmurs, probably sensing how much this whole thing is affecting him and wanting to offer him an out. It’s- ridiculous, he thinks, particularly after all this time, but-

“Yes, let’s,” he agrees, walking once more. He feels oddly raw, but he tells himself he has other things to focus on.

Like where his brother is exactly and what upset him so much that he decided to come here.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock is sitting almost at the edge of the cemetery, head bowed low and Mycroft would think he’s asleep, if it wasn’t for the slight shake of his shoulders that seems to imply he’s crying. With a sigh, he drops himself next to his brother, gesturing for Gregory to wait a bit further away.

For the longest time Sherlock doesn’t speak and Mycroft is wondering if he should say something, when he finally does. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was that late.”

So like his brother to get lost in his own thoughts and lose track of time. “What happened?” he asks gently, placing a hand over his shoulder, wanting to hug him close but not sure if such gesture will be welcomed.

Sherlock lets out a dry chuckle, so unhappy that it makes Mycroft flinch. “It’s so silly!” Sherlock exclaims, pulling at his hair a little. “I- I knew John liked her, I don’t understand why I was so surprised-”

Mycroft frowns. There’s something he’s missing. “What?”

“Mary!” Sherlock exclaims, letting out another dry chuckle. “He- She-” he takes a deep breath, wiping away his tears. “There’s a ball at John’s school. Or something like that. And he- apparently, he’s taking Mary. I just- I don’t understand-” he rubs his breastbone absentmindedly, shaking his head. “I know it sounds ridiculous and that I’m overreacting, but I couldn’t- I just couldn’t-”

Oh god. He’s really not up for this challenge. 

He pulls Sherlock into an awkward hug as his brother dissolves into sobs once more. It does seem like an extreme reaction, but Mycroft does understand his brother. This whole  _ sentiment  _ thing is so completely new and he never really learned how to deal with  _ feelings  _ so it’s completely natural he’s feeling overwhelmed.

His teenage hormones probably aren’t helping either.

“Come on, let’s go home,” he murmurs gently, standing up and keeping the boy close. “We’ll figure this out in the morning, yes?”

In lieu of an answer, Sherlock just lets out a sigh.

 

* * *

 

“Nothing like chocolate to fix a broken heart!” Gregory exclaims, attempting to sound cheerful but it’s obvious that between the late night hours and his own concern at Sherlock’s disappearance he’s really not feeling that happy.

“I don’t think this will help. Like at all,” Sherlock announces matter-of-factly, eying the cocoa cup with open suspicion. Mycroft has to agree, eying his own mug without much interest, but Gregory is still smiling encouragingly and he decides to take a sip.

It’s warm and it tastes delicious so… kudos for that.

“I know it’s hard to see it now, but there’ll be other boys,” Gregory says, patting Sherlock’s hand awkwardly, earning himself a glare from the boy. “Or girls. You know- whatever.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but drinks his chocolate without protesting, so Mycroft is willing to count it as progress. “I don’t want another boy,” Sherlock murmurs softly after a while, not looking at either of them. “I want John.”

Mycroft and Gregory exchange a look. This isn’t going to be easy. “I know lad, but- I mean, it’s not like he’s marrying this Mary. It’s just a- sort of date, so really. You don’t- what I mean to say-”

“You’re just as bad as Mycroft at this,” Sherlock informs him seriously. “Or maybe even worse, considering you actually have experience.” He glares at his empty cup, gesturing for Gregory to refill it and the older man complies. “Your girlfriend is cheating on you, by the way.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft warns, rubbing a hand over his face. He had thought that too when he had seen the other man exit his car earlier, but he had had bigger concerns. Besides, it’s not like it’s any of his business.

“Hardly,” Gregory argues. “You can’t cheat on someone when both parties have agreed it’s not an exclusive thing.”

That sounds- Mycroft frowns. No, he decides. He really doesn’t want to know. And he definitely doesn’t want to get involved in this dating business. Sounds too complicated and it’ll be detrimental to his mental health, he’s almost certain.

“Anyway,” Gregory says after a brief but awkward pause. “The point is: I know right now it feels like the end of the world, but it’s not, Sherlock. You and John are friends and maybe one day he’ll realize what’s been standing in front of him the whole time, but if he doesn’t- well, there are other fish in the pond.”

Mycroft doesn’t think the pep talk is helping. God knows it’s making  _ him  _ more depressed. “You should go home, Gregory,” he says tiredly, looking up at the other man. “It’s late and you need to work tomorrow.”

“Right,” the officer agrees. “Right. I’ll just- umm- I’ll see you around, yes?” Mycroft would like to say  _ yes  _ but he doesn’t think he’ll be in any urge to contact Gregory in the near future, not now considering-

Well.

“Goodbye, Gregory.”

The older man nods and leaves after waving goodbye. Mycroft rubs his temples tiredly, wanting to go to sleep but too tired to actually attempt to move.

He takes another sip of his chocolate. It really does taste delicious. “I’m sorry,” Sherlock repeats and he sighs.

“It’s fine. Just- don’t scare me like that again.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

Oh. “It’s fine,” he repeats with a small shrug. “As he said, there are other fish in the pond.”

Sherlock offers him a tired smile. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“No,” Mycroft agrees, finishing his chocolate. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

For once, Sherlock doesn’t argue with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?
> 
>  
> 
> In Greg’s defense… well, it’s been forever since he made the “you can buy me dinner” comment and since Mycroft hasn’t done anything resembling a move… well, wouldn’t you have assumed the man wasn’t interested?
> 
>  
> 
> But of course they’ll sort it out. Soon. They’re getting married before the fic is over, so   
>  _  
>  they must solve it  
>  _  
>  . So will John and Sherlock, worry not ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Also… god, this is turning angsty. I need to revise my tags. Suggestions?
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! Pretty please let me know what you thought?
> 
>  
> 
>  


	8. Things left unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some things are said (and some remain unsaid)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It turned far shorter than I expected it to, but well… there are a couple of scenes that I think work better from Mycroft’s POV, so there’s that…  
> Regardless, enjoy?

“Is there a reason why everything in both the cupboard and the fridge is chocolate flavored?”

Sherlock spares a quick look in his friend’s direction before shrugging non committedly. “Lestrade has a girlfriend. It’s nothing serious, apparently, but- well,  _ he has a girlfriend _ .”

John eyes him confusedly. “Okay?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically. “My brother is moping because Lestrade has a girlfriend.”

John blinks, still looking confused and Sherlock wonders how could he ever fall in love with a boy like him. Then he gets a good look at him and promptly figures that’s a silly question. “Oh,” John says finally, eyes very wide. “Oh! I- umm- I didn’t- I didn’t know your brother was- umm-”

Sherlock tenses involuntarily. Once more, his tendency to overlook regular people’s obssesion with sexualiaty has put him in a bit of a conundrum. He hadn’t thought much of his brother’s little  _ crush,  _ but he should have known some people wouldn’t approve.

He studies John closely, wondering if he’s  _ one of those people.  _ He might not have interacted much with other teens, but he has seen how  _ nasty  _ and  _ cruel  _ they can be to those they consider  _ different.  _ He’s inclined to think John is better than that, but-

“Is this going to be a problem?” he asks, sounding more defensive than he intended, but figuring it doesn’t really matter. He’d like to keep on being John’s friend, but while he might be willing to ignore his own feelings for the sake of their friendship, he can’t (won’t) ignore this.

“No!” John exclaims immediately, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he assures him, a slight blush covering his cheeks. “I only meant- umm- I didn’t know.” He looks away, embarrassed and Sherlock continues observing him closely. “It’s fine, really. It’s all fine.”

Sherlock hums thoughtfully. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yes!” John says quickly. “I don’t- I’m not- I simply… I wasn’t expecting that.” 

He sounds honest enough and Sherlock figures they can drop the subject. It’s not like he really want to discuss it, not when the likelihood of him saying something about his own  _ crush  _ is so dangerously high.

So he simply grabs a few chocolate bars and leads John to his bedroom, so they can proceed with their movie night as they had originally planned.

Maybe one day he’ll speak of his own heart and things will work out for the best.

But not tonight.

* * *

 

All in all, Sherlock thinks he’s doing fine.

Certainly better than Mycroft, who has spent the last two weeks working non stop, stubbornly ignoring Lestrade when the police officer happens to bring Sherlock home. Personally, he doesn’t see the logic in his brother’s behavior; in his experience, staying away does nothing but increase the ache in his chest. He had tried seeing John a little less when he started  _ dating  _ Mary and had promptly decided that that wasn’t going to work. So while hanging out with his friend and his girlfriend is an exercise in self torture, it’s somehow more bearable than stopping seeing him altogether.

Besides, John doesn’t seem to mind.

Mary does, of course, but she stays quiet. She also knows about Sherlock’s crush; he can tell by the sly smiles she sends in his direction every now and then, but she seems to find the whole thing more amusing than worrisome and so she hasn’t said a thing about that either. He guesses that goes showing how much of _ not a threat  _ he is.

It’s a depressing thought, so he doesn’t allow himself to linger much on it.

But all in all… things are good enough. Maybe it’s not exactly what he’d want, but it’s what he has and for now- for now that’s more than enough. Besides, John still spends most of his free time with him, so he’s willing to count that as a win.

He can live with this.

* * *

 

John seems to be staring at nothing in particular, a thoughtful look on his face and Sherlock is itching to know what he’s thinking. Whatever the subject of his musings might be, it seems pretty important, considering how focused he looks, but no matter how much he tries, he simply can’t figure out what his friend is thinking.

“Is there something wrong?” Sherlock asks finally, sitting up. They’re at John’s house again, allegedly studying for John’s exams (although Sherlock can’t even remember what was the subject they’re supposed to be studying for). His friend blinks, looking at him and offering him a shy smile.

“No, not really,” he replies, blushing a little. “I was just thinking.” Sherlock huffs and John laughs, hitting him with a pillow. “I’m serious!” he exclaims as Sherlock giggles and grabs a pillow to defend himself. “I do it on occasion!”

“On very rare occasions,” Sherlock corrects and John growls playfully, attacking him again. Sherlock manages to avoid being hit, but falls down the bed in his attempt to escape. John follows, both still clutching their respective pillows and laughing merrily.

For the longest time, they chase after one another, laughing. It’s a lot of fun and Sherlock finds himself thinking that this could truly be enough. 

Now, if only his traitorous hormones learned to behave-

“What were you thinking about?” he asks breathlessly, when John finally concedes victory to him and they end up lying on the floor, trying to catch their breath.

John hums questioningly and Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I knew you were lying,” he murmurs and John laughs, rolling on his side so he’s looking at Sherlock. The younger boy tells his silly heart to be still, but of course it refuses to obey and so he forces himself to keep a straight face instead.

“Did I ever tell you about my secret admirer?”

Sherlock’s heart stops. “Secret admirer?” he squeaks, certain his cheeks are as red as a tomato. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down without much success. “What are you talking about?”

John smiles wistfully. “A while ago, someone kept sending me little trinkets. Small things; flowers at first, candy, plushies- stuff like that.” Sherlock nods, afraid his voice will break if he attempts to speak. “It was nice, I suppose,” he adds, biting his lip gently. “But I haven’t got anything in awhile so I just- I was trying to remember when was the last time I got something.”

Four weeks ago. Before Sherlock found out about Mary. Before he got too distracted by his jealousy to forget about John’s secret admirer.

“I see,” Sherlock says after a beat and John smiles at him.

“I know it’s silly. I just- it was nice.” Sherlock nods once more, not sure what he can say. “I should have told you sooner, now that I think about it. Maybe you could have helped me figure out their secret identity!”

Sherlock lets out a pained whimper involuntarily and John turns to look at him confusedly. “Why would you want to do that?” Sherlock questions, sitting up, suddenly feeling like running away. “You’re dating Mary now, so why would that matter?” he wonders if he sounds as desperate as he feels and prays that the answer is  _ no _ .

John is frowning a little. “I don’t know,” he replies with a shrug. “I just- I’d like to know. What’s the point of sending someone gifts if you don’t ever want them to know who you are?”

Sherlock gulps. “Maybe they just- just liked to see you happy.”

John’s frown deepens. “Sherlock-”

Sherlock’s phone rings and both freeze. Sherlock laughs nervously, before taking it out to check who’s calling. When Mycroft’s number appears on the screen, he wants to weep of joy at his brother’s good timing.

“Mycroft, hi!” he exclaims, entirely too cheerful, earning himself an arched eyebrow from John. “What’s up?”

“Mummy and dad are here,” Mycroft informs him and Sherlock can feel his heart sinking. “You need to come home NOW.”

“Of course,” he replies automatically, ending the call. He can feel his heart beating erratically once more, for very different reasons, although the sense of dread remains.

“Sherlock?” his friend questions gently, looking worried, probably noticing how pale Sherlock has gone.

“I’ve gotta go,” he announces, standing up. “I- I’ll see you later.”

And without waiting for an answer, he hurries out of the house, deaf to John’s calls.

Mummy and dad are home.

And that’s never a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. This isn’t how this chapter was supposed to go. But well… Mr. and Mrs. Holmes decided to show up earlier than I expected them to and well… we’ll see how that goes ;)  
> Thoughts anyone?  
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Family affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get an unexpected family visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Boy, did it turn long! And oddly angsty. Huh.  
> Here’s the thing: I love writing family dynamics, particularly when they’re not very good/healthy family dynamics. Although it’s a subject I keep in the background, I do enjoy exploring that part as much as I can without losing track of the actual plot and well… it might have run away from me on this particular story. But it works, I really really think so.  
> Enjoy?

Looking at his shopping bags, Mycroft examines his life choices.

A year ago he would have never even thought one day he’d be attempting to drown himself in chocolate flavored candy. It seemed like the sort of ridiculous thing you see in overly sappy romantic comedies (that of course he didn’t watch), where the  _ love interest _ sees the error of their ways and sweeps the leading lady off her feet by the end of the movie, so everyone can live happily ever after.

As he picks up his bags, he laments his life isn’t a romantic comedy.

“Mycroft!”

Although this situation seems straight out of a romantic comedy. Only Mycroft is fairly certain he lacks any appeal as a leading lady. “Gregory,” he greets politely, trying not to blush. He’s been avoiding the man like the plague, remaining locked up in his bedroom when the older man happens to drop Sherlock by, allegading he’s  _ working _ . It figures that the day he finally makes it out of the house, not having bothered with dressing up and so just wearing what’s basically his sleeping wear, he runs into the object of his affections and reason for his moping.

“Wow, this is a lot of chocolate,” the police officer comments cheerfully. Mycroft tries not to flinch, instead attempting to smile but he thinks he only manages a painful grimace. “Sherlock’s still under the weather, I take it?”

“A little,” he answers, which is kind of true. However, to be completely honest, he’s the one attempting to drown his pain in chocolate, not his little brother.

Which is ridiculous and undignified. How did his life come to this?

Gregory hums, offering him a small smile. Mycroft’s treacherous heart skips a beat and he promptly chides himself. They’ve already established that his interest on the handsome older man is not reciprocal (not that he had expected any different, to be honest). This whole romance bussiness is silly anyway, so his heart has no business skipping beats.

Still- 

“Let me help you with that,” Gregory offers, taking a couple of bags from him. Their hands touch briefly and Mycroft would swear he almost swoon, but manages to compose himself quickly. He sighs, figuring he might as well let the other man help, seeing he’s still a bit away from home.

He hadn’t wanted to take the car, figuring he was just buying a few supplies and since the weather was nice enough, he thought he’d be fine. Now of course he’s wishing he had taken the damn car.

“What were you doing here? You’re off duty, aren’t you?” Mycroft asks after a while and as soon as the other turns to him he curses his awkwardness. How is that he’s a master negotiator and manipulator and yet he’s completely at lost of how to address this man?

His thoughts get interrupted when he notices Gregory is blushing. “Yes. Umm. Actually I was- umm- I was planning on visiting you.”

Mycroft is convinced he’s dreaming now, because that’s the only logical explanation. “Oh?”

The other man blushes some more and Mycroft frowns. “Yes, I- umm- it’s just- it’s been awhile since we talked and I- well.” He waves a hand vaguely, an embarrassed smile on his face. “I thought I would visit. See if you were less busy.”

Mycroft nods slowly, trying to make sense of his companion’s words. “What about your girlfriend? Shouldn’t you- I mean- you don’t get that much time off and- doesn’t she- don’t you-”

God, this is painful. Can he get any more awkward? “We broke up, actually,” Gregory tells him simply, completely unbothered by Mycroft’s lack of eloquence. “Although technically- well, no, I suppose it does count as a break up.”

Once more, Mycroft nods along even though he’s not quite sure of what the other’s words mean, too busy trying to shush his foolish heart who’s now beating madly to figure it out. “I’m- sorry?”

The officer laughs good naturedly. “Nothing to be sorry about,” he tells him with a bright smile. “It was for the best really. I mean- I knew it wasn’t going to work since I was still a bit hung up on- well.” He gestures vaguely, sending a meaningful look in Mycroft’s direction that the teen has no idea how to interpret. “But Allison said she didn’t want anything serious anyway and that we could just- you know- have fun together and well…” He shrugs non committedly. “But then she decided she did want something serious after all and I just- I wasn’t up for the challenge. But we did break up in good terms so… you know.”

No, Mycroft doesn’t know. Not that it matters, he supposes. 

But he supposes he needs to  _ say something.  _ No idea what exactly, but just as he opens his mouth to speak, he notices the car parked right in front of the house and his heart stops, his stomach turning unpleasantly.

“Mycroft?” Gregory asks worriedly, but the younger man has gone completely deaf and blind, his mind in state of panic.

What are they doing here?

“Gregory, I’m afraid I must ask you to-”

“Mycroft!” a voice comes the porch and he closes his eyes briefly, quickly getting his emotions under control. “There you are!” Mummy exclaims cheerfully, coming to stand in front of him and pulling him into an overly enthusiastic hug. “Your father and I’ve been home for over an hour and there was no sign of you or your brother! I was beginning to worry.”

Oh, this is bad. Terrible, really. He needs to call Sherlock and he needs to get here ASAP. “I-”

“And who’s this young man?” she asks, turning her attention to Gregory, her eyes quickly sweeping over him and Mycroft breaks into cold sweat. Oh, this is completely horrible. “Police, I see. What has Sherlock done this time?”

Mycroft bites his lip, wondering what can he say. He’s fairly certain that any lie would be better than telling Mummy where Sherlock actually is, although-

“Nothing at all, Mrs. Holmes,” Gregory is answering, making Mycroft send a panicked look in his direction. “Which is why he had all us worried at the station. We haven’t seen him in over a year, so… we'll, surely you understand?”

No, Mycroft very much doubts Mummy understands, but he hopes she’ll pass it off as one of those oddities of _ goldfish _ . “Of course,” she says pleasantly, a polite smile on her face and Mycroft finds himself breathing a little easier. “He’s perfectly fine, though, so your and your coworkers worry is unnecessary, Constable.” She’s perfectly polite, but her tone is cold as ice and Mycroft can tell Gregory is struggling to keep his usual easy going grin. She continues observing him with that unnerving smile of hers and Gregory finally coughs nervously, noticing he’s still carrying some of Mycroft’s bags.

“Right. Sorry.” He pases the bags back to Mycroft, offering him a sympathetic smile that makes him ache oddly, before turning to Mummy once more. “Sorry to bother you. Good afternoon, mam. Mycroft.”

Mummy smiles icely and Gregory turns around, sending concerned looks over his shoulder every couple of steps. Mycroft tries to ignore him, eyes fixed on Mummy, her smile now directed at him.

This is going to be a very long (and unpleasant) afternoon.

* * *

 

Under the pretense of putting the shopping away, Mycroft hurries into the kitchen and calls his brother to let him know about their parents impromptu visit. He finds himself deliberately taking much more time than what he would actually need to put things away, as he takes mental inventory of all the things both him and Sherlock have done lately that could have caused their parents to show up like this.

The problem is that he keeps coming up blank. The only thing he can think of-

He takes a deep breath, urging himself not to panic just yet. Maybe their parents simply got a bit homesick and decided to cut their last trip short. Of course that’s not something that has happened ever before, but there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?

“And just what exactly is taking you so long?” Mycroft tries but doesn’t manage to contain his surprised yelp. Dad arches an eyebrow, looking more amused than anything else and Mummy is nowhere in sight, so Mycroft allows himself to relax.

“Nothing, nothing. I just- I was-”

“Your mother got a call from… well, I don’t know who,” his father tells him, rolling his eyes when Mycroft tenses once more. “It has nothing to do with you. It was something work related. I think.”

Mycroft feels himself relaxing once more, although not much. Dad is looking at him with something resembling fondness and he attempts to smile, without much success.

Dad of course never takes their side when they’ve done something that displeases Mummy, but he’s usually quick to reassure (and warn) them when their mother is in a bad mood due something not directly related to them. Mycroft has never actually stopped to think what exactly that says about their weird family dynamics, mostly because he’s fairly certain he won’t like the answer.

“What has Sherlock done this time?” Dad asks, observing him closely and Mycroft forces himself to keep his face perfectly blank.

“Nothing,” he replies as calmly as he can. “We both been to the best of our behaviours.”

Dad narrows his eyes, but Mycroft manages to keep his calm facade. They do have been doing as it’s expected from them (well… within reason, in Sherlock’s case) and other than their new found interest in romance, there’s really nothing that should concern their parents.

Of course, they might think differently.

“Where’s your brother?”

“The library,” he answers easily. Their parents might not approve of Sherlock’s forms of entertainment, but they generally don’t oppose to his visits to the library. Since finding him an actual tutor that was up for the challenge that Sherlock is has proven impossible in the last 2 years, Mummy had decided letting him set up his own study schedule was alright.

She probably figured trying to get Sherlock to do something he didn’t want to was more trouble than it was worth.

Dad nods thoughtfully, eyes still narrowed. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, son?”

Mycroft smiles tightly. “Not at all, dad. There’s nothing to report.”

Looking unconvinced, but willing to let the matter drop for now, his father turns around and heads back into the living room.

And so Mycroft can finally breath easily once more.

* * *

 

Dinner is the usual tense affair. Sherlock remains blissfully quiet the whole time, although in retrospect that might not be entirely a good thing, since it’s likely to raise Mummy’s suspicions that something is off. Still, all in all, things seem to be going well and Mycroft is hopeful they’ll survive their parents’ visit with minimal drama.

His parents haven’t been around much since he turned 10 and Mummy decided he was old enough to take care of himself and of his little brother. After the Redbeard incident, she seemed to have reconsidered it and gotten them a Nanny that Sherlock had managed to chase off 3 months later (remarkable, for a 4 years old). The same fate had befallen on the next 3 nannies and finally Mummy had left Mycroft in charge once more.

He knows most people would disagree, but he really thinks it was for the best. He doesn’t have many fond memories of his parents during his childhood years, so it’s not like Sherlock is missing anything. And while their expectations for both of their children are pretty much the same, the lack of actual supervision on Sherlock’s activities has allowed his little brother to grow up with a little bit more of freedom, which Mycroft does believe has been good for him.

He doesn’t think he would have never survived a childhood with their parents actually around, watching his every move.

Still, although they spend very little time with their parents, it’s always a little challengingly, not to mention nerve wracking. Mycroft has spent his whole life doing exactly as it’s expected from him and yet when their parents are actually around, he can’t help feeling like a constant disappointment. He imagines Sherlock feels it much more acutely.

On this particular visit though- well. There are a couple of things their parents can never know about and they’ll have to be extra careful to ensure that.

He rather hopes it’ll be a very short visit.

He’s not sure how they’re going to survive otherwise.

* * *

 

“What are they doing here?” Sherlock demands, storming into his bedroom and Mycroft sighs, putting down his book.

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses darkly, making sure the door is actually closed, before turning back to his little brother. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

Sherlock huffs. “With them here? I doubt I’ll be able to get any rest.”

Mycroft rubs his temples tiredly. “They’re our parents, Sherlock. You shouldn’t-”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock scoffs dismissively. “Like they gave a damn about us.”

Mycroft presses his lips together in a thin line. “That’s not-” he begins, but promptly decides it’s a useless argument. Their parents are… unconventional, but he doesn’t think it’s as bad as Sherlock seems to believe. “Mummy got a call from work,” he explains instead. “Your secret is safe, apparently.”

Sherlock huffs once more, throwing his arms up in annoyance. “Why should it be a secret, anyway? I’ve got a  _ friend,  _ big deal. Children my age-”

“You’re not like other children your age, Sherlock,” Mycroft interrupts as gently as he can. “You know this.”

His brother glares, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “ _ I could be.  _ Don’t you see, Mycroft? We’ve been raised to believe we’re somehow different, but the only thing that’s holding us back from-”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft interrupts darkly and his brother bites his lip, displeased but he does know better than to argue with him when he uses that tone. “Let’s just- just- just don’t give Mummy reasons to be mad at you.”

Sherlock sighs, looking away. “I want to keep on seeing John.”

“And you will,” Mycroft says. “But you need to be careful, at least for a while.”

“It’s ridiculous! I don’t-”

“I know,” he interrupts once more, placing a hand over his shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “It’s horrible and unfair and you shouldn’t need to- but I’m afraid it’s necessary.”

Again, Sherlock makes a face and Mycroft pulls him into an awkward hug. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. It won’t be more than a week.”

Or at least that’s what he hopes.

* * *

 

“That officer from the other day,” Mummy says and Mycroft’s blood runs cold, although he forces himself to keep his gaze focused on the documents he’s revising. However, since Mummy doesn’t elaborate further, he eventually has to look up and face her.

“What about him?” he asks, tone perfectly flat, his face betraying nothing. He’s quite proud of himself for that, actually.

Mummy stares at him intently, as if reading into his very soul and Mycroft is hard pressed not to squirm in his seat. “He’s quite an attractive man.”

Oh god. “I suppose,” he agrees neutrally, aiming to sound unaffected. “I didn’t pay much attention.”

His mother rolls her eyes dramatically and Mycroft’s heart picks up speed. “Please,” she says disdainfully. “I imagine it’s normal enough for a boy your age, but I’d advice to discourage any further attempts of- socialising.” Mycroft forces himself to hold her stare, looking for all intents and purposes completely unbothered. “One day you might need to find someone to marry, of course, but I was rather hoping you’d keep your eye on better prospects, Mycroft.”

He can feel his blood boiling now, because  _ how dare she suggests Gregory is beneath him _ ? But of course his good sense wins the battle against his rightful anger and so he simply smiles tightly, knowing that if he attempts to answer his voice will betray his feelings.

Luckily Mummy doesn’t press and simply leaves him alone, probably figuring she has said enough.

Mycroft closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Regardless of his own decision of not wanting to get involved with Gregory (which is pointless, seeing the man doesn’t like him l _ ike that  _ anyway), his mother’s words sting. Gregory Lestrade is a wonderful prospect and Mycroft would be lucky if-

He takes another deep breath. It’s not like it matters, really.

But-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> This wasn’t supposed to contain this amount of drama, but plot bunnies have a tendency to run away from me and characters refuse to listen and play along with the plot I originally planned so… well.  
> I hope you liked it, regardless!  
> On a bit of a side note, next update might take a bit longer because I want to start working on my commissioned fic from the FandomTrumpsHate auction, but well… it’ll really depend on my inspiration (and my actual work, I suppose). Still, I wanted to let you guys know ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Friends are (never) a good idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get... tricky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… I said this chapter might take a while. But once I started writing… well, it just flowed and well, here we are!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings for very  
>  __  
> very  
>   
>  bad parenting. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy?

_Tap tap._

Sherlock opens his eyes, confused at what exactly woke him up. He sits up on the bed, looking around the room, trying to figure out the source of the odd noise, but to his frustration, he finds nothing.

_Tap tap._

He frowns, getting out of bed to inspect his surroundings more thoroughly. What-?

_Tap tap._

The window. Of course, he should have figured it out sooner. Then again, he was deeply asleep, so-

He opens the curtains and has to contain his startled yelp as he comes face to face with his best friend, who’s standing precariously on top of branch that’s barely strong enough to hold his weight.

He opens the window right away and John slides in, with a sheepish smile on his face. “What do you think you’re doing?” Sherlock demands, “do you have a death wish or something?”

John rolls his eyes dramatically, dropping himself on the bed. “It was a sturdy enough branch. Besides, I wouldn’t have needed to resort to tree climbing if _you answered my damn texts.”_

Sherlock flinches, hugging himself. John looks worried right away, standing up once more and coming to stand in front of him. “Sherlock? What’s wrong?” he asks, placing his hands on his shoulders gently and starting to rub soothing circles with his thumbs.

Sherlock takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. There’s really no reason to get this worked up really, but John’s evident concern makes him ache in ways he doesn’t fully understand and that make him feel terribly wrong footed. “It’s nothing, really,” he murmurs softly. “I just- my parents are visiting and I didn’t want to risk them finding out-” he bites his lip harshly. He hadn’t meant to reveal quite that much; while he knows John’s relationship with his own parents isn’t exactly _good,_ Sherlock has never told him about his. It’s not that important anyway, seeing they’re mostly never around, so he had thought-

John is frowning, looking conflicted. He evidently wants to ask more, but he’s considerate enough not to press for something Sherlock isn’t willing to reveal. “Hey, it’s fine,” John assures him and that’s when Sherlock notices he’s trembling. “It’s fine, really. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

John pulls him into an awkward hug and Sherlock melts at the contact. John isn’t really a _touchy_ person, avoiding contact whenever possible. Except when it comes to Sherlock apparently, because he _always_ finds reasons to touch him and if he’s honest with himself, Sherlock must admit he _loves_ it.

They stand like that for a long while, Sherlock willing himself to relax and let go of his friend. When he’s finally convinced he’s got enough control over his troublesome emotions, he pulls away, looking collected once more.

“So- I’m guessing your parents’ visit is the reason you haven’t shown up at my place either?” John questions hesitantly, looking slightly wary and Sherlock frowns. “It’s just- well, seeing how our last conversation went I was worried I had done something to upset you and so I- I just-” he shrugs helplessly, a very light blush covering his cheeks.

As he recalls their last conversation, Sherlock feels himself panicking once more. Busy as he had been worrying himself sick about the possibility of Mummy finding out about his friendship with John, he had completely forgotten-

Oh god.

“Sherlock?” John says, gently poking him in the ribs. “Have I broken you?”

And just like that, the tension dissipates. Sherlock’s heart swells, thinking John does know him all too well and knows how to get him to relax right away. He glares playfully then and John offers him a smile. “It’s fine,” he says, careful to keep his expression blank now. “I just- I was trying to remember what you were going on about.”

John rolls his eyes dramatically. “Of course you had deleted it. I should have known, really. Too pedestrian for you?”

“I never delete anything related to you,” he says and regrets it a second later. So focused on not letting John believe, even for a second, that what he tells him isn’t important enough for him to remember, he didn’t stop to think about his wording.

“Oh.” John looks honestly surprised, but not in a bad way if the way he’s smiling is any indication. “That’s- good, I suppose.”

“Yes, well,” Sherlock shrugs, looking around, feeling awkward. “You’re my best friend, John,”

The other boy’s smile is so bright and pleased that Sherlock can’t help smiling back just as brightly. “Good,” John says, “because you’re my best friend too.”

Yes, Sherlock supposes that’s good.

It’s really all he could ask for.

 

* * *

 

“Someone is in a good mood this morning.”

Sherlock knows that the way he immediately tenses has given him away, but he forces himself not to look at Mummy guiltily. He keeps his eyes fixed on his half eaten breakfast, his appetite now gone, but knowing he should keep on eating if he doesn’t want to raise further suspicion.

Not that it’ll make a difference, he fears.

“Sherlock? Is there something you’d like to share with us?”

Sending a panicked look in Mycroft’s direction might just alert Mummy that there’s definitely something he’s hiding, so Sherlock simply looks up, staring directly at his mother with an innocent smile on his face. “What makes you think that, Mummy?” he questions sweetly, telling his silly heart to stop beating quite so loudly.

Mummy’s smile is like the cat that got the cream. “Well, you’re eating for one,” she comments, eyes shining. “There’s also the fact that you keep smiling for apparently no reason.”

Sherlock’s heart has stopped in his chest, fear gripping him tight. Oh, god, is he really that obvious? He hadn’t thought John’s short visit the previous night would have affected him at all, but he has evidently underestimated the effect his friend has on his mood.

“I- I-”

The phone rings and Sherlock doesn’t think he has ever been more thankful of having a conversation interrupted. Mummy frowns, going to pick up the phone and he takes a deep breath right away, his lungs aching since he had been apparently holding his breath.

Dad is watching him closely, brow slightly furrowed. Sherlock looks down at his food once more, feeling tears in the corner of his eyes, scared beyond measure. There’s really no telling what Mummy might decide to do if she finds out about John, but-

Beneath the table, he feels Mycroft gently patting his knee and he nearly breaks down crying. For a second he’s three again, watching Mummy and Dad take his only friend in the world with them while Mycroft holds him.

God, this is ridiculous! He shouldn’t- it’s just not fair! Why should he be so damn scared?! He just got himself a friend, why is it such a crime?!

Mummy comes back then, looking annoyed and Sherlock hopes against hope that her phone conversation has distracted her enough to let go of the subject of _why is he happy,_ but he knows better. “So,” she says. “Something you want to share?”

“No,” he replies darkly, looking up once more, squaring his shoulders. “There’s nothing I’d like to share _with you.”_

The world seems to have stopped spinning and Mummy looks stricken. Dad looks horrified and Mycroft’s hold on his knee has gotten painful, but Sherlock barely notices, his gaze fixed on his mother, who recovers quickly and offers him an icy smile that promises all sort of horrors.

Oh god, what has he done?

“Well, this was meant to be a surprise but I suppose I might just as well tell you now,” she starts and Sherlock forces himself to keep his calm facade, even if he’s scared out of his mind in the inside. “Your father and I have decided to get you in a boarding school. Since your brother is obviously incapable of looking after you properly-”

“Mummy, I-” Mycroft begins but she silences him with a glare.

“-and you’re obviously missing a firmer hand to set you straight, we thought it’d be for the best.”

“Mummy, that’s really unnecessary,” Mycroft pleads as Sherlock sends a panicked look in his brother’s direction. It’s true he has always wondered what it would be like to go to school with other children his age, but boarding school- “I’m perfectly capable-”

“Oh, please,” she says dismissively. “You’ve done a really poor job-”

“It’s not his damn job!” Sherlock exclaims, frustrated and _so very angry._ “He’s done the best he can, but it’s not his goddamn job!”

“Language!”

“You’re my bloody parents!” Sherlock snaps, standing up abruptly. “You’re my bloody parents and you can’t be bothered with me, why should it be Mycroft’s responsibility? What’s more, you don’t give a damn about me or my happiness, so why the bloody hell-”

The slap resonates across the house and Sherlock places a hand over his aching cheek, more startled than anything else. But Mycroft has stood up a second later, pushing him behind him, shielding him from Mummy’s fury.

“Mycroft-”

“That’s enough,” his brother says, deadly calm. “That’s quite enough.”

Sherlock shivers, scared of how much Mycroft’s tone matches Mummy’s most deadly one. He doesn’t dare to move, practically hiding behind his big brother now, scared and surprised of what has had just happened.

“Violet,” Dad pleads softly, standing up and grabbing Mummy by the arm. “Relax. The boys are just- let’s all calm down, yes?”

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. None of the men dare to even breath and finally she nods, leaving the room without adding anything else. Dad spares a quick glance in their direction before following after her and Sherlock sags against his brother, shaking. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay,” Mycroft murmurs, hugging him tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You think she means it? The boarding school bit?”

Mycroft sighs, rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s going to be fine, Sherlock. I promise.”

Sherlock nods, even if he finds it doubtful. But then, his big brother has always taken care of him and he knows he’ll figure something out.

He always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> As I said, this turned darker than I ever thought. But on the bright side, that’s probably the last we’ll see of the Holmes parents… in a while. We should get back to happier, brighter, sillier things soon enough. With some hurt/comfort here and there because our boys are obviously going to need it.  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	11. Communication is vital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which talking is key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m not sure if it feels out of nowhere but well… I was in a bit of indulgent mood, so, enjoy?

“You’re angry.”

Gregory taps his fingers against the back of the sofa, lost in thought. “Not exactly,” he replies slowly, looking at Mycroft with something that looks an awful lot like pity and that makes Mycroft bristle right away, even if he doesn’t let it show. “It’s just- I mean- A lot of people have a bad relationship with their parents, but this is-” he waves a hand vaguely. “I don’t even have words to describe it.”

Mycroft huffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. “It’s hardly that bad. It’s not- I mean- before that day, Mummy had never slapped either of us.” The mere memory makes his stomach twist unpleasantly, but he doesn’t let it show. They all had lost their tempers that day, there’s really nothing-

“Do you really want to have this conversation?” Gregory asks gently, leaning closer, gingerly placing a hand on top of Mycroft’s knee and the younger man tells himself now is definitely not the time to get distracted by such things.

“What do you mean?” he asks, eyes fixed on the hand on his knee. It’s puzzling really: while most of his body feels warm, his heart feels too heavy for him to truly enjoy the contact.

Gregory sighs. “You can not honestly tell me you can’t see all the things that are wrong with your relationship with you parents. But I suspect, as most of abuse victims-”

“It’s not- we’re not-”

“See?”

Mycroft bites his lip, looking away. It’s not- he honestly doesn’t think-

But he supposes it’s messed up. “Well, in any case they’re gone now. And knowing Mummy, I think it’ll be a long while before we see them again, all things considered.”

The older man sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I really wish- but I suppose that’s really up to you.” He chews his lip, thoughtful. “What about the boarding school?”

Mycroft shrugs. “With… everything, it seems to me they have forgotten about it. Mummy doesn’t- she’s not used to people standing up to her and she doesn’t take it kindly. But I think Dad might have convinced her of not doing anything drastic, so I believe it’d be safe to say she’s now busy licking her figurative wounds, so…”

The police officer is shaking his head, looking like he really wants to say something, but holding himself back. Mycroft pursues his lips, not liking the other’s expression one bit although he’s at lost of how to remedy that. 

For the longest time neither says anything more, both lost in their own thoughts. Mycroft is well aware his relationship with his parents isn’t strictly what you’d call healthy, but he doesn’t think it’s as bad as Gregory seems to think. They’re hardly ever around and as long as Sherlock doesn’t do something particularly silly, things run smooth. Of course the fact that Sherlock has gotten himself a friend shouldn’t be something considered silly, but-

It’s not that bad, is it?

He finally becomes aware of the thumb tracing circles over his knee and he looks at Gregory’s hand once more, unsure of what to think. It’s obvious the man cares, both for him and his little brother, but he’s not sure what to make of that. He’s never had a friend before and to be honest, he had never actually  _ wanted  _ one, but now-

These last few days have been challenging in ways he doesn’t care to describe and the other man’s presence has been a soothing balm to his aching heart. For someone so used to depend on no one but himself, he’s getting quickly accustomed to have a proverbial shoulder to lean on.

That can be all types of problematic.

But whenever he gazes into his companion’s eyes, he can’t help thinking he couldn’t care less.

* * *

  


He thinks he ought to have some sort of reaction when one morning while he makes breakfast his little brother strolls into the kitchen closely followed by sleep ruffled John, but Mycroft simply arches an eyebrow and gets an eyeroll for his troubles.

When the scene keeps repeating itself for the next week, he assumes that’s just the way things are now and while he supposes he ought to say something, he has no clue of what exactly, so he lets it go.

He wonders if Mummy is right and he’s doing a poor job looking after his little brother.

He refuses to contemplate the answer for long.

* * *

  


“Bad day?”

Mycroft hums, taking a sip from him tea mug. He had an extremely tiring day at work, so he can’t bring himself to care much about whatever trouble Sherlock got into that had Gregory showing up at the house. “I can’t talk about it,” he says, when the other man keeps staring at him expectantly, taking another sip of his drink. His companion offers him a rueful smile before serving a cup for himself and taking a seat in front of him.

Mycroft isn’t quite sure he’s in the mood for company, but he doesn’t feel like protesting either, so he lets it go.

“So… John says he’s staying here now.”

Ah, well, he supposes they can discuss that. God knows Mycroft isn’t keen on hearing anyone’s opinion on his parenting choices, but on this particular case- “It seems Mr. Watson has finally discovered his wife’s affair and- well, that went as well as you can imagine.”

Gregory frowns, taking a sip from his own drink. “And you know this, how?” Mycroft arches an eyebrow and he offers him a small smile. “It’s just- John refused to tell me what was wrong and I somehow doubt Sherlock would have been any more forthcoming, so-”

Mycroft shrugs. “It’s not that hard to deduce,” he replies calmly. He’s not one to explain his deduction process, knowing most people doesn’t really appreciate it and while he thinks Gregory might be slightly curious, he’s not in the mood to make an exception for him.

God, what an awful day.

He becomes aware of Gregory standing up and coming to stand behind him a little too late, only noticing as the other’s man fingers start digging on the tense muscles of his shoulders. The relaxing effect should be immediate, since the man does have very talented fingers, but he can’t bring himself to completely let go, afraid he’ll let out an embarrassing noise.

But god, it’s certainly wonderful. “Is this alright?” his companion asks gently, the contact now more of a caress that makes Mycroft shiver. He wants to say that yes, it’s perfectly alright, but he knows the second he opens his mouth he’ll say something he’ll regret. Gregory’s hands drop then and he almost lets out a whimper but manages to contain it in the last second. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have- I should have asked first if you were okay with me touching you before-”

“I want you to touch me all over.”

The silence is baffling and Mycroft lets out a pained groan, before letting his head hit the table. Damn it all, he was embarrassed of making a pleased noise and yet he went and said  _ that  _ aloud. Good lord, what’s wrong with him?

Since no more words come from his companion, he risks a glance over his shoulder, expecting the other man to look horrified at the very least. Or maybe to find him gone, have taken advantage of Mycroft’s existential crisis to run away before things could turn even more awkward.

What he finds though, leaves him feeling more confused.

Gregory’s pupils are blown wide, an open look of  _ hunger _ on his face. Mycroft thinks he’d find the look encouraging, if not by the way the other is holding himself, back very straight, fists clenched at his sides, ready to spring at any given second.

He stands up slowly, feeling unsure. It’s a weird feeling for certain and he doesn’t like it one bit, except-

Next thing he knows he’s being thoroughly kissed, the kitchen counter digging painfully against the small of his back but he doesn’t give a damn, too focused on the feeling of the lips against his. God, this must be what heaven is like and he’s never been particularly religious, but he finds himself thanking every deity above for letting him have this, at least once in his life.

As the most logical part of his brain seizes control once more (mostly due lack of oxygen, since that’s the part that keeps insisting they do need to breath), he finds himself quietly panicking.

He’s way out of his deep here.

“Oh, thank god,” Sherlock says sarcastically. “And here I was thinking I was going to need to intervene.”

They pull apart so quickly it’d be funny if Mycroft wasn’t dying of embarrassment. Gregory is red as a tomato and he supposes he doesn’t fare any better, but his little brother looks thoroughly unimpressed. John seems to find the humor in the situation though, judging by the smile he’s trying to hide. 

“That was- we weren’t-”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Just not on the kitchen counter, if you please. That’s where food is made.”

John can’t keep holding his laughter then and Sherlock looks horribly pleased with his little accomplishment. Mycroft feels like he should say something, but his brain is fried apparently and he’s having enough trouble with breathing to even contemplate reprimanding his little brother.

His smug little brother.

For the longest time, no one speaks, Mycroft and Gregory still trying to catch their breaths while Sherlock goes through the pantry’s contents, taking out a ridiculous amount of unhealthy food. Once more Mycroft has the impression he ought to be saying  _ something,  _ but-

“Well then,” Sherlock says once he has picked out enough supplies. “John and I are going to watch a movie. You can go back to your  _ business  _ as long as you keep it where we can’t see it.”

John laughs once more and Mycroft and Gregory blush once again and with that the younger boys are out of the room, chuckling among themselves.

Mycroft takes a deep breath, willing his heart to return to it’s normal beating speed. “That was-” Gregory begins and Mycroft silences him with a dark look that has the other man gulping.

“We’re not discussing that,” he murmurs, going to sit once more and the older man frowns, but follows his lead and sits down once more. “We’re going to forget that ever happened.”

The police officer opens his mouth to protest and Mycroft glares, effectively silencing him once more. However, the more time it passes, the more he realizes that’s not really going to work. “That was a mistake,” he says slowly, carefully measuring his words. “Something that we shall never repeat.”

“Why?” Gregory asks after a beat, looking disappointed. “I thought-”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Mycroft argues darkly. “Nor do I have any interest on pursuing a relationship. It’ll be nothing but detrimental to my focus and-”

“Oh, come on!” the other man interrupts him abruptly, so ardently that it startles Mycroft. “You don’t- that’s not-” He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his short hair. “Listen, if you don’t- if you’re simply not interested in me like that,  _ just say that.  _ But don’t give that shit.”

Mycroft bites his lip. He knows what he should say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. “I can’t tell you that, because it’d be a lie. Still, I don’t-”

“Mycroft, please,” the older man pleads, placing a hand over his. “I really like you. And I- well, now that I know that there might be a chance-”

“No,” Mycroft interrupts sharply, standing up. “I don’t- I have no interest in-” he turns away, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. “I’ve never dated anyone before,” he murmurs softly. “And I don’t want- I’m not interested on a simple  _ fling.” _

He becomes aware of the other man standing behind him well before he places his hands on his shoulders, but doesn’t move. As much as he doesn’t want to give in, he can’t deny that every fibre of his being is claiming for him to let go-

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Gregory says, gently urging him up and spinning him around. “Something a bit more formal, I mean. I really do like you.” Mycroft frowns and the older man sighs. “Listen, I might have given you the wrong impression before, but I’m beginning to see where I might have gone wrong,” he offers him an embarrassed smile. “You never realized I was flirting with you, did you?”

What?  _ When? _

Gregory chuckles. “From the very beginning, actually.” He shakes his head, looking slightly sad. “But you never seemed interested, so I- I tried to move on. Although I’m beginning to realize I should have been a bit more straightforward, considering your lack of experience.”

Yes, straightforward would have been nice. Still- “I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Mycroft whispers, feeling very  _ very  _ unsure. “I don’t- As much as it pains me to admit it, I doubt I’ll be any good at this dating business, so-”

Gregory has the audacity to laugh, sliding his hands down Mycroft’s arms. “We’ll figure it out together,” he says gently. “If you want to give it a go, that is. Which I really hope you’ll want.”

He does, oh,  _ he does.  _ But there are a million reasons  _ why  _ this is bad idea, his lack of experience being the less worrisome; the probability of Mummy finding out the most troublesome and yet-

Oh, god helps him,  _ he wants.  _

Which once more goes showing how problematic this  _ sentiment  _ thing is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts anyone?  
> All things considered, does it seem forced? I wasn’t quite planning for our boys to kiss just yet, but it was the direction the story took as I wrote so… well. Things are of course far from solved, but they’re moving in the right direction now, I think…  
> Let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!


	12. A double date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock gets a date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! That was fast, right? But I was quite inspired so… here we are ;)  
> Enjoy?

“What?” Sherlock snaps as John keeps staring at him with a small smile on his face. It’s unnerving, to say at least and while he usually doesn’t mind being the focus of John’s whole attention, he doesn’t understand what his friend finds so… amusing.

“You’re actually happy for your brother.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m not actually heartless, John. Of course I’m happy for him,” he argues, looking away, not wanting John to see the pain in his eyes and asking him _why_ is he upset. “Besides, all that _silent pining_ was driving me insane.”

John offers him a bright smile that, as usual, makes Sherlock’s heart skip a beat. He has gotten used to the feeling though, so he manages to keep his face perfectly blank now. “What?” he demands once more, feeling oddly self conscious the longer John stares.

“Nothing,” his friend replies with a shrug. “I just-” He waves a hand vaguely, his fond smile still firmly in place. “I always knew you were a romantic deep down, despite all your protestations of the contrary.”

“I never-”

“Oh, please. You despaired on Greg’s blatant attempts of flirting and you’re always complaining about me and Mary being, in your words, _all lovey dovey_.”

Sherlock forces a smile. Yes, he does that, although for entirely different reasons. Lestrade is annoying because he attempts to be subtle when that’s the last thing Mycroft needs; as for John and Mary-

He rubs his breast bone absentmindedly, ignoring his heartache with practiced ease. He’s gotten better at ignoring his friend’s _girlfriend_ and has perfected keeping himself from showing what he’s really feeling, but it doesn’t mean the pain has lessened at all. What’s more, now that John is living with him, his _longing_ threatens to drown him _all the time_ and while it’s true that his life has turned into pure torture-

He wouldn’t change a single thing.

“Speaking of romance,” John says, completely oblivious to Sherlock’s pained thoughts, “Mary wants to introduce you to her friend Janine.”

“What?” Sherlock asks, almost certain he didn’t hear that right. It wouldn’t make sense, but-

“I know, I know, _not your area._ ” John smiles and Sherlock knows he’s going to agree, because he’s incapable of saying _no_ to that smile. “But she thinks you’ll hit off splendidly. I don’t really share her optimism, but if it gets her off my back… could you give it a try?”

Sherlock considers the merits of telling him that his heart already has an owner and therefore he couldn’t be any less interested on _meeting_ Mary’s friend, but promptly dismisses the idea. He’s not quite sure what’s Mary’s endgame, but he suspects he should play along, if only to keep John off his track.

He really _really_ doesn’t think John knowing he’s in love with him will do either of them any favors.

“Alright,” he agrees after a long pause and his friend smiles tentatively at him. “A double date?”

John hums thoughtfully. “Yes, that’d be probably for the best.” He smiles once more, a little more confident and Sherlock forces himself to smile back, even if he can already tell this is a bad idea.

But nothing for it, really.

 

* * *

 

Janine is… nice, he supposes.

Overly bubbly and very talkative, but not insufferable and smart enough not to bore him to tears. She is just as dramatic as himself too and most of what she says is something sarcastic, which he’d admit amuses him greatly. He thinks he can see why Mary thought they would get along splendidly.

Still-

John keeps looking at him weirdly, some unidentifiable emotion in his eyes. It puzzles Sherlock, particularly because he has _no clue_ what his friend might be thinking. He had seemed pretty excited at the double date idea at first, but now-

Now he’s just too quiet.

Sherlock frowns, eyes fixed on John’s back as they make their way out of the movie theater. Mary is clinging to John’s arm (as usual) and they’re walking a little ahead from them, the girl whispering excitedly, looking over her shoulder every now and then and offering Janine very bright smiles. John looks over his shoulder on occasion too, but his expression is mostly closed off and perhaps a tad annoyed.

Busy as he is observing the couple in front of them, Sherlock is quite startled when Janine pulls at his arm and pins him against the wall. She’s very strong for someone so thin and Sherlock finds himself involuntarily tensing, unfortunately too used to people manhandling him.

This, however, is a completely different type of manhandling.

He doesn’t really get to respond to the kiss, his brain going into panic the second the girl’s lips connect with his. He thinks she might lack experience, judging by the amount of saliva involved, but she’s certainly enthusiastic and he doesn’t even think of pushing her off, entirely too surprised to even _think._

When she finally pulls away, she looks entirely too pleased with herself.

Sherlock blinks, trying to make sense of what has just happened. Before he can say anything though, he becomes aware of Mary’s raised voice and his attention goes to his friend and girlfriend, who seem to be in the middle of an argument. Janine is smirking, arms crossed over her chest, looking smug while also staring at the arguing couple.

Mary storms away then and John hesitates before following her, throwing an apologetic glance in Sherlock’s direction. The younger teen frowns, now more confused than ever.

“There,” Janine says, taking his arm once more and pulling him towards the exit. “Hopefully they’ll both see sense now.”

Sherlock still has no idea what has just happened, but he suspects he has become unintentionally involved in some bigger scheme.

Janine is certainly full of surprises.

* * *

 

 He lays awake in bed for the longest time, simply staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of his crazy afternoon. The double date took a turn for the unexpected and he has no clue whatsoever of what to think about it. Also, John hasn’t answered any of his texts and so it’s perfectly natural that he’s feeling a bit… angsty.

There’s a tap on the window and he’s out of the bed before he even actually registers it. John is standing over the tree branch, looking sheepish and Sherlock opens the window right away, staring at his friend worriedly.

“You have keys, you know?” he says after a long while, when it becomes obvious John isn’t about to speak first.

John shrugs almost absent mindedly, eyes fixed on the floor as he makes his way towards the bed. Sherlock’s frown deepens as he takes his friend in: he can tell he has spent the last few hours walking around; after dropping Mary at her house, he went to his own home and promptly convinced himself that was a very bad idea, so he went towards Sherlock’s and then circled around the neighborhood for a couple of hours.

What’s going on?

“John?” he questions softly, coming to sit next to him and placing a hand over his shoulder gingerly. “Is everything alright?”

John is chewing on lip viciously and doesn’t answer, which causes Sherlock to worry some more. “Is this about- are you mad about something?” he asks, biting on his own lip. John tenses, but promptly relaxes once more and looks away.

“No, it’s not- I just- Mary and I got into an argument.”

Sherlock nods slowly. He knew that already, so the real question is- “Why?”

John turns to look at him, eyes haunted. Sherlock wants to do something to make him stop looking so miserable, but he has no idea what, so he settles for what he hopes is a comforting pat on the shoulder.

His friend sighs and pointedly stares at everything in the room but Sherlock, which stings more than he’s willing to admit. He has no idea what he did wrong, but he’d give anything to fix his mistake.

Before he can think of something, he finds himself being kissed for the second time in the day.

He’s just as startled as the first time around, but _this is John_ and his body seems to know the difference, judging by the way he eagerly reciprocates. It’s probably as messy as Janine’s, this time his own lack of experience showing, but he can’t bring himself to care, because _this is John._

After what feels like a lifetime, his friend pulls away, leaving him breathless. His lungs ache fiercely due the lack of oxygen and his head feels dizzy, but he wouldn’t trade the sensation for anything in the world.

That is until he gets a good look at John.

Oh.

“John-”

“I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-” He looks away and Sherlock can actually hear his own heart breaking, but forces himself to keep himself in check and not start crying. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock nods, not meeting his companion’s eyes. He’s not exactly sure what has just happened or why, but he’s not about to press for any sort of answers. Evidently this was a mistake and John is already regretting it, so he’d be doing himself no favours if he kept on pressing.

“It’s fine,” he whispers finally. “Let’s just- get some sleep and forget about this.” It takes every bit of his self control, but he manages to roll onto his own side of the bed and he determinedly closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep, instead of losing his temper and demand answers as his heart is telling him to.

He had made his peace with just being John’s friend.

And it’s fine.

It’s all fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I know I’m a bad person! But after the positive note the last chapter ended in, I thought some angst was in order ;) I had considered letting them kiss and then actually talk about it… but my evil ways won (as they usually do) and why talk when you can simply assume things? :P
> 
>  
> 
> But worry not, for they shall work things out! I don’t think there’s much fic left at this point, but I guess we’ll see how next chapter goes (my plan is for Greg to talk some sense into John, while Mycroft does the same for Sherlock)
> 
>  
> 
> On a slightly differente note, in case you’re interested, I’ve started posting my FTH’s work on AO3. It’s a johnlock piece with some Beauty and the Beast elements (but more like OUAT version) and you can find it [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9629420/chapters/21755447)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	13. Love is a hassle (but it’s worth it. Allegedly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft struggles to make sense of his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (slightly anticipated) Valentine’s Day my darlings!  
> At some point last week I briefly entertained the idea of having this fic finished by the 14th, but evidently, that didn’t work out. I think I might finish it by March, but well… we’ll see, since the plot insists on taking angsty turns :P  
> Anyway… enjoy?

Mycroft had never really understood the appeal of flowers and similar nonsense: what’s the use of a gift destined not to last? Is it a metaphor about feelings and their fickle nature? If so, he failed to see why people would care for such a reminder of how easily love wastes away.

Now however-

It’s silly, really. He’s not a man prone to romanticism, far too pragmatic for his own sake and that has no time or patience for subtleness and figurative speeches. _Love_ is an abstract, changing concept that is of no importance for people like him.

And yet, look at him now, smiling besottedly at the flower arrangement placed over his desk.

Anthea had been thoroughly amused when the flowers first arrived; even more so when Mycroft failed to order her to get rid of them and had instead asked her to place them in some water. Now his infuriating assistant won’t stop smirking, reminding him to text Gregory to thank him for the flowers between each meeting.

He’d fire her, but she’s too damn irreplaceable.

He sighs, looking at the flowers from the corner of his eye. They’re distracting and every fibre of his pragmatic being is urging him to get rid of them, but the sentimentalist that he didn’t even know existed within him-

Well.

This sentiment thing is truly bothersome. He’s not completely sure he likes it, since it makes him waste precious time contemplating his options. He’s not one to get involved in _anything_ without having thought of the pros and cons thoroughly, except, apparently, when it comes to Gregory Lestrade.

The handsome man is going to be his downfall and that’s certainly an unpleasant thought that makes him want to call him and tell him to please never bother him again, but then he thinks of his eager look when he asked him to give their relationship a shot and he finds himself incapable of thinking _logically._

Dear lord, how do regular people _deal_ with this? Is this why people are so unbelievably _stupid?_ Because they spend all their time trying to sort through their messy feelings? Ugh. How horrid.

And yet-

“Constable Lestrade on line 1, sir,” Anthea informs him, peering into his office, something she _never_ does, contenting to inform him of such things through the interphone, but she seems determined not to miss any of Mycroft’s struggles. He glares at her and she offers him an innocent smile, still not closing the door.

He should fire her, really. With a sigh, he picks up the phone. “Yes?”

“Oh, hi Mycroft! I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt-” Normally, Mycroft would be rolling his eyes at all the unnecessary chatter, but since this is _Gregory_ he’s instead _smiling_ like a bloody fool, much to his assistant amusement. “-and I tried your mobile first, of course, but you weren’t answering, so I thought- well. I just- I’ve received some great news and I was wondering if you’d be up for a celebratory lunch?”

“Yes,” he says without thinking and Anthea has the gall to laugh. He glares once more, but the woman ignores him, instead focusing her attention on her phone, probably rearranging his meetings. She then makes a face and shakes her head once, looking up at him apologetically.

Oh, right. _That_ meeting. “I’m sorry Gregory, I’ve just remembered I can’t,” he hears the other man’s soft disappointed _oh_ and he hurries to add, “but I could do dinner?” he looks at Anthea, who is smirking once more and nodding, tapping away on her phone. Mycroft would glare, but he supposes the effect is diminished a bit by his bessoted smile.

“Great!” Gregory says cheerfully and Mycroft’s heart most definitely doesn’t skip a beat. “I’ll see you at your place?”

“7 o’clock?”

“Perfect,” the other says and Mycroft can picture his pleased smile. “Until later, love.”

He hangs up and Mycroft stays there, holding the phone against his ear, gaping like a bloody goldfish. Anthea winks at him before closing the door and Mycroft lets his head hit the table while he groans.

Just what has he gotten himself into?

* * *

 

As things end up, they give up on the celebratory dinner and end up having a celebratory make out session in the living room.

It’s not Mycroft’s fault, really. It’s all Gregory’s, of course. Just why exactly did he decide dressing up was a good idea? Mycroft thought him handsome enough while wearing his regular, day-to-day clothes; seeing him all _dolled up_ (his word’s, not Mycroft’s, although he suspects he might have been trying to be funny) had had devastating effects on Mycroft’s poor often ignored hormones.

“What are we celebrating again?” he asks between kisses, not because he particularly cares, but because it seems polite to ask, especially considering how selfishly he changed their plans.

“Oh,” Gregory says, pulling away a little, but keeping his arms firmly around Mycroft’s waist and the younger man thinks the position should be all kinds of uncomfortable, considering the haphazard way their bodies are arranged on the entirely too small couch, but neither of them particularly minds. “Yes. I have good news!” he says cheerfully and Mycroft nods encouragingly because if he doesn’t start talking he’s going to get distracted by his companion’s tantalizing neck _again._ “I’ve been promoted to Sergeant. Ain’t it great?”

Oh, those are good news indeed. “Maybe we should have gone out for dinner after all,” Mycroft musses out loud. “Seems like the sort of thing we ought to celebrate properly.”

Gregory hums, lips pressed against Mycroft’s jaw and it’s _impossible_ to think when he’s doing that. “I rather like this type of celebration,” his companion comments, a hand slipping underneath Mycroft’s shirt. “It’s much more fun.”

Mycroft manages to hold back his startled yelp as he feels Gregory’s hand over his bare skin, but he practically springs out of the couch anyway. The other man looks up at him, his expression one of confusion and perhaps slight hurt and Mycroft curses his sudden nerves.

Damn it, this isn’t how this is supposed to go.

Gregory sits up, watching him. Mycroft realizes he’s holding his breath when his lungs start to ache and so he forces himself to take a couple of deep breaths, willing his heart to go back to its regular beating rhythm.

“I’m sorry,” his companion says, biting on his lip nervously. “I got carried away. I didn’t mean- I don’t- I’m not expecting anything, love, really. I’m perfectly fine with whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

Mycroft sighs, looking away. It’s not- he’s not exactly uncomfortable with the idea of sex. It’s, after all, a perfectly regular expectation of someone in a relationship. He just- he never particularly cared about that and apart from some awkward… experimenting when he was so much younger, he has never done anything sexual and certainly not with another someone involved.

“Mycroft, are you alright?” Gregory is standing now in front of him, a look of deep consternation on his face. “Just- breathe.”

Oh god, he’s hyperventilating. Will this embarrassment never end? “I’m sorry,” he murmurs finally, once he has managed to get his breathing under control once more. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Gregory offers him a kind smile that makes Mycroft’s stomach turn. He doesn’t want- he’s not-

“It’s fine,” the other man assures him, a hand over his shoulder rubbing comforting circles. “Really, it’s fine. I understand.”

Mycroft very much doubts it, but doesn’t argue.

He doesn’t have the words to explain himself anyway.

* * *

 

They do have a celebratory dinner a couple of days later, in some fancy restaurant Anthea recommended. It’s the sort of place where the menus don’t even list their prices and Gregory looks uncomfortable the whole time, so Mycroft decides to chose something a little less expensive next time, but overall, he thinks dinner goes well.

They end up back at his house and they make out in the living room once more. It’s- nice, he supposes, although it makes him feel like an overly hormonal teenager. There’s no finesse in their kissing and their mutual arousal is quite obvious, but hands stay over the clothing and it’s-

It’s nice. Really. A bit overwhelming, perhaps, but nice.

He’s just nervous, really. He hasn’t done this before and he’s afraid to disappoint. He’s not used to not excelling at something and so it’s perfectly normal he feels so horribly self conscious about this, isn’t it? It’s not- he’s not-

It’s just sex, after all. There’s nothing to be nervous about. His inexperience is making him angsty, but he’s certain it’ll get better in time. Hopefully Gregory won’t have gotten bored of him by then.

Yes, it’ll be fine.

Nothing to worry about, really.

* * *

 

Busy as he’s trying to figure out his complicated _feelings,_ Mycroft is embarrassed of how long it takes him to notice something is obviously wrong with his baby brother. Of course Sherlock is _very good_ at masking his sadness, but that’s really no excuse.

He frowns, wondering not for the first time if it’d be for the best to call this whole thing with Gregory off. His brother is, after all, his top priority and anything that distracts him from noticing Sherlock’s misery isn’t a good thing.

But-

His brother narrows his eyes, silently telling him he doesn’t want to talk about it. Mycroft frowns, his eyes sweeping over John, who is busy munching his breakfast, completely oblivious to the brothers’ silent conversation. There is, now that he’s paying attention, a sort of tension between the younger boys, but he doesn’t understand the source of it. He rests his elbows over the table, linking his fingers beneath his chin and submerging himself in his thoughts, as he tries to puzzle out what happened between his brother and his friend.

John isn’t living with them anymore, although he still spends the night over at least once a week. His parents’ divorce has taken an even nastier turn, with them fighting for custody. In theory, John would be better off staying with his father: even if he’s a drunk, at least he actually _gives a damn_ about his children. His mother is more likely to win though and that evidently makes John angsty.

But that’s not the only reason why John seems so tense. Something happened between him and Sherlock, although both are avoiding even _thinking_ about it. He remembers Sherlock saying something about him meeting one of John’s girlfriend’s friends and he wonders how that went. Not terribly good, he imagines, but there’s something-

God, relationships _are difficult._

Maybe they should give them up altogether.

Sounds very reasonable to him.

* * *

 

It’s funny how little it takes to make something as pedestrian as dinner into something special. He’s been making dinner (even if simple things) for him and his brother since he was 11, but somehow having Gregory with him makes the whole ordeal feel like a different thing. It’s nice, this sense of domesticity and some (ridiculous) part of him is hoping things will carry on like this for a very long time (forever).

He thinks Mummy would be horrified if she ever found out that he and Sherlock are having boys over (even if they’re doing perfectly innocent things) and not only that, but said boys have keys to their home. And then he thinks that the big house never felt more like a home than since Gregory and John arrived to their lives.

This whole sentiment thing might be troublesome, but he’s beginning to believe it’s worth the hassle.

More than worth it, actually.

* * *

 

“This tea-”

“Nice, isn’t it?” Gregory says, pouring a cup for himself and for Mycroft, who barely looks up from the documents he’s reading. He has an important meeting the following morning and he really should have locked himself in his room to revise his papers, but for some reason he’s sitting at the kitchen, half listening to Gregory’s and John’s chatter. “It’s from some posh shop in Mayfair,” the older man continues. “The sort of place mortals like us don’t ever step into.” He grins and Mycroft rolls his eyes dramatically. He knows Gregory’s _jokes_ are his way of dealing with his uncomfortableness due their background differences, but he doesn’t like it.

He doesn’t think it’s important, really. His parents are old money, but that means very little to him. Gregory squeezes his hand lovingly and he smiles at his _boyfriend_ who looks quite happy right now.

He goes back to his reading, or at least tries, because that’s when he notices John’s look. The boy is staring at the tea box intently, brow furrowed. Mycroft blinks and quickly does the math in his head.

Oh. Sherlock gifted one of those to John, didn’t he?

This could be problematic.

His brother chooses to enter the room right then. “John! Come, I’ve just found the most interesting-”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” he asks, eyes still fixed on the tea box and Gregory turns to look at Mycroft, confused. Mycroft’s whole attention however is on his little brother, who looks confused for a second before his eyes land on what John is holding.

Oh, this could go very wrong.

For the longest time none of them speaks and he supposes that’s answer enough. John stands up abruptly, heading towards the door and Sherlock makes a pained noise, immediately reaching for him but John throws a warning glare in his direction and the younger teen steps back, looking like he could break.

Mycroft feels he should be doing something, but what?

John exits the kitchen through the backdoor and Sherlock covers his mouth with his hand, in order to hold back any noise that might leave him. Gregory still looks a tad confused, but Mycroft doesn’t have the time to explain, instead he goes to his brother, although he still has no clue what he’s going to do.

Sherlock surprises him then, wrapping his arms around him and collapsing against him, hiding his face in his shoulder. Mycroft’s heart aches in unspeakable ways and he feels the very accurate desire to _murder_ someone.

The americans still owe him a favour, don’t they?

Maybe it’s time to ask for payback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> In my defense, since this chapter runs from Mycroft’s POV it wasn’t really the place to tackle John’s and Sherlock’s issues. As for the last scene… one could argue it was unnecessary angst, but I had been planning to write John finding out about Sherlock being his secret admirer since forever and well- I always make Sherlock the one suffering the most in all my fics, so… yeah, there’s that.  
> But that mess will get sort out on the next chapter, I swear! Please don’t hate me! ;P  
> Thanks for reading!


	14. A matter of bad phrasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John & Sherlock figure things out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god I wasn’t planning on updating today, but I was inspired and well… this happened. Besides, it’s Valentine’s day and so I thought some fluff was in order! (Don’t let the begining fool you, I swear this is a happy chapter :p)  
> Enjoy, my dears!

Sherlock isn’t having a good day.

To be fair, he hasn’t had a good day in almost a week, ever since that damned double date. He had made his peace with just living with the memory of that sole kiss forever more, telling himself he’d be perfectly content with just remaining John’s friend. It certainly hadn’t been what he wanted, but it was better than nothing.

It hadn’t been easy and things had been a little tense between them after that, but he was convinced eventually they’d move past their kiss and continue as if nothing had happened.

Now though-

He rubs his temples tiredly, wondering how things could have gone wrong so quickly. He had never meant for John to find about him being his secret admirer but now that he knows, he wonders if they can go back to how things used to be. Considering John hasn’t shown up at his house in 3 days, nor has he answered his texts or his calls, he thinks the answer is a sound _no._

He closes his eyes, willing himself not to cry _again._ His unrequited feelings were painful enough, but without John’s presence to soothe the ache, they’re _crushing._ He doesn’t know what to do; the logical side of him insists that if John is that bothered by his feelings, despite the fact that Sherlock has made it clear he has no further expectations of their friendship (or so he thinks) then it’d be best to simply never see him again.

But the mere thought is so painful he can _barely breath,_ his stomach turning unpleasantly, his heart breaking into a million pieces. He can’t do that, he _doesn’t know how to do that._ He never had a friend before and he was perfectly fine with being alone, but now he knows the loneliness will crush him and he- he-

He doesn’t know what to do. He needs to fix his mistake, but he has no clue _how_ . How do you go about _not being in love with someone anymore?_ Because he suspects that’s the only way to fix this, but the idea seems impossible; it’s not like he can control the way he feels.

But he must. He’s a genius, so he’s confident he’ll manage to figure something out.

It’s the only way, after all.

* * *

  


It’s no use.

Sherlock opens his eyes and scowls at nothing in particular. He has spent the whole afternoon in his Mind Palace, attempting to delete his feelings for John. It’s not working and he didn’t quite expect it to, but-

He sighs. He’s way out of his depth here and he’s beginning to question if he actually wants to _fix this._ Maybe he should take it as a lesson so he’ll never be foolish enough to hand out his heart again. Evidently he’s not made for this romance business and so it might be for the best-

And then he thinks of his brother and how _happy_ he looks when Lestrade is around and groans.

Love might be a hassle, but when it’s reciprocated it seems like the most marvelous thing in the world.

He rubs his breast bone absentmindedly, pondering his options. He should simply forget this whole dratted business and attempt to move on. As Lestrade said, there are other fish in the pond, although he doubts he’ll ever find another quite like John Watson. Then again, that might be for the best, because Sherlock doesn’t think he’d survive another heartbreak.

And yet-

His thoughts get interrupted by the doorbell. He frowns, sitting up. He’s not expecting visitors (obviously) and Mycroft is at work (he spends more time at the office nowadays, now that he thinks about it) so that only leaves-

His heart stops in his chest and the pain on his breast intensifies. He forces himself to take a deep breath and slowly, oh so very slowly, he makes his way downstairs.

This could be it, he thinks morosely.

This could save him or break him, but either way, he’d rather know than keep on guessing.

* * *

  


When he opens the door, heart in his throat, he’s not quite sure what he’s expecting to find, but it’s certainly not an empty threshold.

He frowns, looking around for any signs of _something,_ but everything is quiet. He finds himself breathing easier, although the pain in his chest remains. It’s a bit anticlimactic, he’d admit, but-

And then he sees it.

Lying on the doormat there’s a single red tulip. Sherlock kneels down, picking up the flower with care, heart beating erratically. It can’t be what he’s thinking; it simply can’t be-

And yet, what else could it be?

He can feel tears in his eyes once more. It’d make no sense whatsoever and yet he can’t stop himself from hoping that he’s right. It’s impossible, improbable, nonsense, but-

His phone rings and he nearly drops the tulip, but he recovers quickly. With shaking hands he takes out his phone and stares at the screen for the longest time, a new text from John flashing on it. He opens it, unconsciously holding his breath, still not quite sure of what this all  means.

_Chips?_

Sherlock lets out an startled giggle, holding the flower close to his chest and then he answers with a single word.

_Yes._

* * *

  


“Did you know tulips only bloom in spring? It was hell trying to find one in the middle of july and I almost considered picking another flower, but well- it seemed fitting.”

Sherlock nods, still not daring to speak. He hasn’t uttered a single word since he arrived at what used to be their usual place to hang out and found John already waiting for him with 2 orders of chips, looking nervous but determined.

His eyes sweep over his friend once more, looking for clues of what he’s thinking. He wonders if he knows what a red tulip symbolizes or if he only picked the flower due Sherlock’s first gift. He’s hoping for the first, obviously, but at this point he’d settle for the second, if it means he’s been forgiven and that things can go back to what they were.

“I do know what it means,” John tells him after a beat, not quite meeting his eyes. “And I do mean it.”

Sherlock’s heart skips a beat, but he keeps himself perfectly still. He’s still quite unsure of where are they standing and he’s not willing to risk upsetting the delicate balance of their reunion by making crazy assumptions.

John sighs, picking a chip absent mindedly, eyes fixed on some point behind Sherlock. The younger boy is itching to turn around to see what is his friend staring at, but he doesn’t dare to move just yet.

“I’m sorry,” the blond says after a while and Sherlock frowns, not understanding. John sighs once more, running his fingers through his hair, apparently frustrated and Sherlock tenses involuntarily. “I mean- I shouldn’t have left like that. But I- It took me by surprise and I wasn’t sure- I didn’t know what to think.”

Once more, Sherlock nods, but he doesn’t really understand and John seems to know that, because he continues, “I mean, as I said, the whole Secret Admirer thing was nice. And when it stopped… well, to be honest I didn’t think much about it. Finding it was you all along came as a bit of a shock and the fact that you _stopped-_ well, I was confused.”

“Why?” Sherlock finally dares to ask, feeling more than a little wrong footed. John offers him a small smile, before shrugging nonchalantly.

“Why did you stop?” he asks instead of answering and Sherlock gulps, wondering how much is wise to reveal.

“You had Mary,” he whispers finally, staring at his untouched food intently, suddenly feeling sick. “I was jealous,” he confesses quietly.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John murmurs, grabbing his hand, startling him a bit. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Sherlock shrugs. “You liked her. You can’t help the way you feel.”

John pursues his lips in displeasure, but doesn’t comment. Sherlock basks in the warmth of their joined hands, ignoring the muted ache in his chest with practiced ease.

“That day at the movies,” John says after a while, his thumb drawing circles over Sherlock’s knuckles. “When you kissed Janine-” _She kissed me,_ Sherlock protests, but it goes unnoticed, “I felt- god, I don’t know what I felt. It just- it was so _awful,”_ he scrunches his nose and Sherlock thinks that’s adorable but keeps his opinion to himself. “That’s why Mary and I argued. She pointed out I was more interested in what you did than in her and well- it escalated quickly.”

“You- you’re no longer together?” Sherlock asks, sounding entirely too eager, but he can’t help himself. After the kiss, he hadn’t dared to ask-

“No,” John replies simply, shrugging. “After dropping her at her house, she told me not to bother her again.” Sherlock flinches, because that wasn’t quite the answer he wanted to hear, but John doesn’t notice, lost in his thoughts. “I took a long walk around your house afterwards, trying to figure out why it bothered me so much seeing you with Janine and then- well.” He smiles sheepishly and Sherlock’s heart clenches. “I finally figured out the answer.”

The younger boy frowns, confused. “That night, when you kissed me-”

“Yes, well, I figured- it seemed like an efficient way to figure out if you felt the same. But then you said we should just forget about it-”

“Because you said it was a mistake!” Sherlock exclaims, frustrated that apparently _he_ was the one to blame for all his heartbreak.

“I never said that!” John defends, crossing his arms over his chest and so doing, letting go of Sherlock’s hand. “I just said-”

“You said you didn’t mean it!”

“Yes, and I understand how you could have misunderstood that, but what I meant-” John protests, grabbing Sherlock’s hand once more, looking desperate and so very _eager._ “I wanted to do things _right._ Not just kiss you and be done with it; I wanted to talk to you so we could figure out if we- if we wanted the same thing.”

Sherlock pouts. “Your bad choice of phrasing is appealing.”

John laughs, an honest startled chuckle and Sherlock can feel his stomach fluttering funnily, but he does enjoy the sensation. His friend smiles, leaning closer and bringing his still captive hand to his lips, making Sherlock flush. “I’m sorry. Do you think- I’d like to start over.”

Sherlock glances at their joined hands and he can feel himself smiling without quite meaning too. A part of him is wary, to be honest, but for the most part- “I’d like that too.”

John’s only answer is an even brighter smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I told you they were going to figure it out soon! I’m not sure if it seems overly optimistic, but I do think it works. I’m a romantic, somewhere deep down! :P  
> Red tulips are a declaration of love and according to some sources, they also mean “believe me”. So, fitting, right?  
> Umm… I think this will have 5-6 chapters more at most, but the next update might actually take a while since I have to start working on a couple of essays. Of course I’m very weak willed, so I might end up writing this instead of my essays anyway, but well… in case I somehow manage to hold onto my resolution… ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Pretty please let me know what you thought?


	15. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft and Sherlock talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to work on my essay. I swear I did! I wrote 5 whole pages before deciding it was  _ way too boring _ ! And so I told myself I’d just write a scene or two and it somehow turned into a whole chapter...
> 
> Oh well… enjoy!

“Are you aware your brother is cuddling with John in the library?”

Mycroft hums, not looking up from the document he’s reading. “Why do you think I’m working in the kitchen?” he asks absentmindedly. “You should have seen the glare Sherlock threw my way when I walked in there.”

Gregory huffs, amused. “They’ve made up, then.” Mycroft hums once more, already having gotten bored of the conversation. “You should probably call your pals at MI6; let them know that little favour won’t be necessary after all.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes dramatically. “It was an american freelance team. And I’ve already called them.”

Gregory blinks and Mycroft realizes he was kidding. He blushes a little, feeling a tad embarrassed, but not overly so. Sherlock is his baby brother after all, and so he takes his well being very seriously.

Still, he doesn’t know how to salvage this conversation, since it’s evident he has messed up horribly. “Should I be concerned?” Gregory asks after a while, his tone teasing, aiming for levity and Mycroft attempts to smile reassuringly.

“Of course not,” he replies as calmly as he can, wanting to elaborate despite  _ knowing  _ it’s not particularly wise. “I- This is Sherlock we’re talking about. If you- as heartbroken as I’d be if you decided to break up with me, I assure you you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“Huh. That’s… reassuring,” he says with a grin and Mycroft knows he’s not being serious and that he believes such time won’t come. He’s not quite so certain himself, although he does believe he wouldn’t wish any ill to befall onto Gregory, even if he left him brokenhearted.

“You realize it’s far more likely it’ll happen the other way around, right?” Gregory asks after a beat and Mycroft looks up from his reading once more, a mighty frown on his face. “Me being the brokenhearted one,” his- boyfriend? clarifies. “You know, everytime I come here I’m half convinced you’ll tell me you’ve decided I’m not worth the hassle.” He smiles self deprecatingly and Mycroft’s frown deepens. “You’re way out of my league, really.”

Mycroft scoffs, standing up and going to his companion, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing him gently but deeply, determined to show him that he doesn’t think that at all.

He’s the one who got the better deal here, after all.

 

* * *

 

“Do you have to do that where I can see?” Sherlock asks, sounding annoyed. “Your room is literally a few feet away!”

Mycroft blinks awake, wondering what his little brother is going on about. He feels someone stirring on top of him and he quickly becomes aware of the… eh…  _ compromising  _ position he and his boyfriend have been caught in.

“So?” Sherlock demands, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your excuse?”

“Sherlock,” John says in warning, looking as if he has just woken up himself. The younger teen however ignores him, busy as he is glaring at Mycroft. “Sherlock, let them be,” he insists, but of course he goes ignored.

“Listen to your boyfriend, kid,” Gregory says, head still resting on Mycroft’s chest and Sherlock blushes right away. “You might get answers you don’t want to hear.” He winks saucily and Sherlock looks appropriately horrified. 

His little brother opens his mouth, not doubt to say something horribly embarrassing and Mycroft figures it’s time for him to intervene in hopes of keeping most of his dignity intact. “Enough,” he interrupts. “We just fell asleep, Sherlock.”

“Yes, after  _ making out  _ in the living room. Really Mycroft, do you have no shame?”

Mycroft sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s far too early for this and to be honest, he only wants to go back to sleep. “What do I have to say for you to let the matter drop?” he asks tiredly and judging by Sherlock’s smug smile, he assumes that’s exactly what the younger boy was hoping for him to say.

“Nothing,” Sherlock replies calmly, “I just want you to give me some money. I’m taking John out on our first official date.” John blushes furiously and slaps his hand against his own forehead. Gregory chuckles, still happily wrapped around Mycroft and he sighs, figuring he might as well give in if only to get Sherlock off his hair.

“You know where my wallet is,” he murmurs and his brother smirks before leaving the room quickly, John trailing after. “It’s not like he ever asks, anyway,” he adds softly and Gregory chuckles once more, pressing a kiss against the underside of his jaw. 

“Good morning,” his companion murmurs softly. “I don’t think this is the most appropriate position to get any decent rest, but I must say I’m most happy about this development.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes dramatically. “Sherlock might be right; my bedroom is only a few feet away.”

The other man hums thoughtfully. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, love.”

Mycroft sighs, remembering their conversation from a few days ago. All this kissing is making him feel a little more confident, but he must admit to himself he’s still quite nervous about doing  _ more.  _ “Just for sleep,” he says after a while and Gregory hums, kissing him once more. “Now get up, I need to be in the office in an hour.”

His boyfriend laughs, rolling off him and so falling off the couch, but he doesn’t seem to care and so Mycroft simply smiles. They exchange one last kiss before Gregory heads towards his own home to get ready for the day and Mycroft can’t help the besotted smile on his face while he hurries to shower and dress.

Just as he’s finishing breakfast, a rather disturbing thought occurs him: now that Sherlock and John are officially dating-

Oh god, he’s going to need to give his brother The Talk.

As if he knew anything about that.

 

* * *

 

He sits at the living room, trying to convince himself he can do this. The truth is that he very much doubts he can, but he knows he must: Sherlock might be a little too young to be even considering having sex, but he’s full of teen hormones and well- better now than later.

Although imagining his brother ever being involved in something as  _ pedestrian  _ as that seems a bit far fetched, but then again he never thought  _ he  _ would involved in such things and yet- well look at him now!

Oh, this is going to go horribly.

Sherlock is humming happily to himself when he finally makes his way into the house, far too late for a teen his age to be out and about. Mycroft takes another deep breath, thinking they need to set some ground rules and makes a mental note to raise the subject as soon as they’re done with their main  _ subject.  _

Oh god.

“You look distinctly ill,” Sherlock informs him cheerfully. “Have you been eating too much cake again?”

Mycroft scowls, but hurries to ignore the jab. Now is not the time to get sidetracked and arguing with his brother over his unimaginative insults will lead to nothing but frustration. “Sit,” he orders, in that tone that makes people hurry to obey his every command.

Sherlock of course, is thoroughly unimpressed. “What is this about?” he demands, not sitting down and stubbornly remaining by the door, where he can easily escape if the need arise.

Mycroft thinks he’d like to escape this conversation too, but he’s duty-bound to have it. “Sit,” he orders again, his tone firm and Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically, but finally complies.

Good. Now, to the matter at hand-

Why is it so difficult, really? “What’s going on?” his little brother demands, probably having sensed his uncomfortableness and so getting nervous too, going through a mental list of things that could be  _ wrong.  _

It’s an appealing long list for someone so young, to be honest. “I just- well, since you and John are now officially dating-” Mycroft begins and he hates how awkward he sounds, but this is something he never really considered having to do. “I just wanted to make sure that you… umm… that you knew… that is, that you…”

Sherlock arches an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest defensively and Mycroft has never felt this tongue tied in his whole life. He takes another deep breath, looking away, trying to find the best way to go about this.

“Is this about  _ sex _ ?” Sherlock asks, his tone dripping disgust. “God, Mycroft! Just because you and Lestrade can’t keep it in your pants-”

“That’s not-!” the older male starts protesting, blushing furiously. “We don’t- that’s not-” he takes another deep breath, figuring he’s going the wrong way about this. “What you do is really none of my business. And I really  _ really  _ don’t want to know about it, but I want to make sure you’ll be… careful about it.”

Sherlock looks thoroughly horrified. “The mere idea of…  _ that  _ is thoroughly disturbing, brother dear,” he says, face matching his words. “Not something I’d like to engage in anytime soon.”

_ Not soon, but maybe some day,  _ Mycroft thinks and the idea is mortifying for some reason. “I know. And I do believe you shouldn’t- rush into anything, but hormones are treacherous things and so I wanted to make sure-”

“I do know about condoms, Mycroft,” Sherlock argues, sulking now and Mycroft sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“Yes, well, that- I was also concerned about that. And you know the mechanics?” he asks, not sure why, since he  _ isn’t  _ quite sure about the mechanics either and anyway, that’s something he doesn’t want to discuss with his baby brother.  _ Ever. _

Sherlock nods, still looking horrified and while Mycroft wonders about that, he figures there are more pressing issues to discuss. Somewhat. “Good. I… umm… also, considering how- the things is,  _ emotions _ -”

Sherlock sighs dramatically, interrupting him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mycroft makes a face. “Yes and no. I mean, since Gregory and I are… in a relationship, I’ve found myself experiencing things I never- it’s overwhelming, I’ll tell you as much and so I just want you- or rather, I don’t want you to-”

Sherlock pats his hand awkwardly, looking as mortified as Mycroft feels. “It’ll be fine, Mycroft. You have nothing to worry about.”

But he does! “Sherlock-”

“No, listen to me,” his brother interrupts sharply. “I’m not- completely averse to the idea of intimacy in the future, but I realize that’s a step I’m nowhere near ready to be taking. And so does John, really; we’re just- adjusting to the change of relationship, so you don’t have to worry about me feeling… pressured or what not. And in the future- well, we’ll see how things progress. But I’ll be careful, I swear.”

Mycroft nods. He doesn’t feel that much relieved, to be honest, but well- he supposes that’s the best he can hope for.

Oh, this is really weird.

“Now, can we please be done with this unbelievably embarrassing and awkward conversation?” Sherlock pleads and Mycroft offers him a small smile and a nod.

He supposes there’s really not much he can say.

But well- he tried.

 

* * *

 

Gregory finds his earlier embarrassment far too amusing and Mycroft is not one bit pleased. “I’m sorry!” his boyfriend says between giggles, a healthy red color on his cheeks. “I just- I’m trying to imagine how that went and-” he dissolves into giggles once more and Mycroft glares.

“It wasn’t one bit amusing,” he murmurs darkly, eyes focused on the half cooked dinner. “It was mortifying.”

“I imagine,” Gregory concedes, coming to stand behind him and wrapping his arms around his middle. “I’m sorry, love. I just- you gotta admit it’s a bit funny.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest, quite enjoying the feeling of having his boyfriend’s body wrapped around him. He relaxes into the embrace, happy to let his mind drift while he continues making dinner.

“What did I say about public spaces?!” Sherlock demands, storming into the kitchen as he usually does, closely followed by John. Mycroft notices they’re holding hands and his heart swells. He’s happy for his little brother, he really is, if terribly concerned.

“We’re just hugging, lad,” Gregory protests, not moving an inch. “I’ve seen you and John doing the same quite a few times, so you have no leg to stand on.”

Sherlock huffs, dropping himself dramatically on one of the chairs. John sits next to him, whispering something in his ear and Sherlock huffs once more, but somehow manages to curl against John as closely as possible considering their seating arrangements.

Mycroft turns his attention back to dinner, deciding to bask in his own happiness rather than continue observing his baby brother.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock says suddenly and the officer hums, not moving from his place behind Mycroft. Sherlock clears his throat and so the older man finally turns to him, one eyebrow arched. “I just wanted to say- I hope you know that should you hurt my brother, your body would never be found. Not that that’d be much of a feat, considering your coworkers utter ineptness, but well- just so you know.”

Mycroft can’t fight the smile that comes to his lips. He and Sherlock have an  _ odd  _ relationship, to say at least, and he has always felt he cares more than his brother does, but well- apparently, that’s not quite the case.

“Duly noted,” Gregory responds seriously, grabbing Mycroft’s hand then. “Although you should know that I don’t intend to do that.”

Sherlock nods tightly and Mycroft shakes his head, amused. “Is it my turn to threaten your boyfriend?” he asks playfully and John opens his mouth to protest, but Sherlock is quickier.

“No harm shall ever befall upon John,” his little brother instructs very seriously. “He’s completely off-limits. If we happened to have a disagreement, we’ll talk it out.”

Mycroft stares at his brother’s serious face and he nods, a small smile playing on his lips before turning his attention back to the food he’s preparing, heart swelling with pride.

Would you look at that? How much has he brother grown.

Where has time gone, really?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
> In my head, Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s conversation went a bit more… hilariously, let’s say, with some seriousness thrown into it. But well… have you ever tried to give The Talk to a teenager? You want to die half of the time! (I’d know. I gave my baby sis The Talk, coincidently, when she was 13. An experience I don’t care to repeat) So… well… I think it works but it’s  _ weird _ .
> 
> Anyway… let me know what you thought? If I ever stop posting quite so steadily, assume my guilt has finally caught up with me and I’m actually working on my essays :P
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. If life gives you lemons...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many things are going badly and Sherlock wonders if it's a sign from above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. This turned ridiculously short… but well, I’m trying to wrap things up a bit, so that might be it :P  
> Enjoy!

“Bored!” Sherlock announces loudly, tossing a pillow in John’s general direction. The other boy groans as the pillow lands on the table, obscuring his view of his book.

“I did tell you I had a lot of homework,” he points out, throwing the pillow back. From the corner of his eye, he sees it hit Sherlock square in the face, making him hurry to hide a smile. He’s supposed to be studying and he refuses to be distracted by his… boyfriend?

“Dull,” Sherlock says, sitting up in one smooth movement and coming to stand right behind John’s chair, leaning closer so he can look at his homework. “Let’s go out. There’s a new Chinese restaurant I want to try out.”

Sherlock notices the way John immediately tenses, uncomfortable at the idea of going out and spending money. Not that it’s his money (or Sherlock’s, for that matter) but he supposes that, in his mind, it doesn’t really matter: John has never been too comfortable with spending money on superfluous things and now that his father has lost his job-

This won’t do at all.

“Or we could take a walk in the park,” Sherlock attempts to amend. “Anything to stop this endless boredom,” he adds dramatically, earning himself  a chuckle from his friend (and boyfriend now?)

“Let me finish this first,” John protests, ever the diligent student and Sherlock huffs, making him laugh once more. “Really Sherlock, I need to get this done. Not all of us had private tutors that didn’t give us homework.”

Sherlock throws himself onto the bed once more. “My tutors gave me loads of homework,” he protests. “I just never did it.”

“And it didn’t matter,” John points out. “But that’s not how school works.”

Sherlock makes a face. Nothing that takes John’s attention away is a good thing in his book, but he supposes he’ll let the matter drop for now.

Some fights are just not worth it.

 

* * *

 

It’s obvious to Sherlock that something needs to be done about John’s family’s situation. He doesn’t understand why his mother would attempt to gain custody of him and his sister (although he supposes it has something to do with making Mr. Watson’s life as miserable as possible) but that matters not: at the end of the day, if she does get her way, John will be gone.

Not that John knows that yet, mind. He knows his mother was having an affair; he doesn’t know the other man has moved to Manchester and so they’d be going with him.

Which of course, is simply unacceptable. After going through all the trouble of _courting_ John, Sherlock is not about to give him up just because.

Therefore, plans need to be made.

Mr. Watson’s sickness could be problematic, but nor he nor his ex wife really know about it, so it’s not an issue likely to be raised (although maybe Sherlock should mention it to John at some point. Not that it’ll make a difference at this point, but it seems like the right thing to do). His drinking problem might be a point against him, but it seems that since there is no more Mrs. Watson around, that has gotten a bit better (probably because he has to be around his children a bit more). As for the job-

“Sherlock, I can’t simply- it’s not- that’s not how it works!” Mycroft exclaims, dramatic as always and so Sherlock doesn’t bother to reply. Coaxing the older Holmes into doing something isn’t exactly difficult if you know how to play your cards and Sherlock certainly does.

He stares at his brother, turning his puppy eyes full force against him. Mycroft huffs, looking away and biting onto his lip and Sherlock knows he’s won this round. From time to time he feels slightly guilty about _manipulating_ his older brother, but desperate times calls for desperate measures and all that.

“I’ll get him an interview,” Mycroft murmurs darkly, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s the most I can do.”

Oh, he could do so much more. But, Sherlock supposes, this is good enough. Although there’s nothing wrong with improving Mr. Watson’s odds, really. “I can’t lose John, Mycroft,” he says, careful to imprint enough misery into his tone to make Mycroft’s heart of ice melt a bit. “Please.”

Mycroft sighs, resigned and Sherlock smiles brightly at him. He’s not lying, after all and so he figures he has no real reason to feel guilty.

It’s really for the best, after all.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock keeps his thoughts to himself, careful not to say a word and just hold John tight, putting all his love and the comfort he’s capable of giving into the embrace. At least, he thinks darkly, his parents have the decency of not being around enough to make his life miserable, even if they attempt to control his every move from wherever they happen to be.

The divorce hasn’t been easy on John, although he’s done a fine job of distracting himself. First by spending all his free time either with Mary or with Sherlock and now by simply sticking to Sherlock’s side after school. He doesn’t mind, of course and in fact might even enjoy it, but he realizes that the situation is more than a little horrid. He does his best to entertain John in any way he can think of, but there are days like this when he simply doesn’t know what he can possibly do to make it better.

He hopes that once the custody issue has been resolved it’ll get better.

But if not, he really needs to start thinking of other ways to distract John.

 

* * *

 

With John’s family’s _complications,_ their relationship has taken the background for a bit. Or rather, the _activities_ that Sherlock assumes come with relationships have, since they do spend a lot of time together, talking and joking and just generally enjoying each other’s company. It feels like nothing has really changed and _he’s fine with it,_ really. He’d like for some additional gestures of affection, as he often saw John and Mary engaging into, but he’s not about to make demands. John isn’t quite in a good place right now and Sherlock is happy with continuing being his friend; nothing really has to change and he certainly doesn’t want that, except-

Is asking for another kiss too much?

He sighs, running his fingers through his friend’s short hair. John is fast asleep, body wrapped around Sherlock’s like an overly cuddly octopus. Sherlock does enjoy moments like this, of course, but they make him long for this kind of affection when they’re both awake. With John asleep like this, it feels too accidental and so he’s not completely happy with it.

He sighs once more, thinking he really has no reason to complain. Just a few weeks ago he was completely certain his feelings would never be reciprocated; that he has this much now-

But he can’t help wondering what John really wants. Maybe he’s just not- physically attracted to Sherlock. After all, Sherlock knows for a fact his friend spent most of the time he was with Mary kissing (very enthusiastically sometimes) and yet, so far, he hasn’t even pecked Sherlock’s lips.

He tells himself he’s being ridiculous. Living in a ridiculous heteronormative society, it’s natural that John didn’t feel any particular concern at kissing a female, but that he’s a little wary of kissing him again. He could understand if John is having a bit of a sexuality crisis, but he had thought-

He scowls darkly at himself. People’s idiosyncrasies is something he has never bothered himself with, particularly when it comes to sexuality. Therefore he never _thinks_ about such things, or at least not from the regular person’s perspective. But evidently he needs to start thinking from that perspective if his relationship with John is going to work. If he goes making outrageous demands, it’s very likely he’ll only succeed in scaring his friend off.

And that’s most definitely a no-no.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Sherlock might have bigger issues to think about than his boyfriend and their lack of physical affection.

Namely the acceptance letter currently laying on the table.

Mycroft looks as horrified as he feels, standing by the kitchen counter and drinking coffee as if his life depended on it. Lestrade had strolled a few minutes earlier, looking sleepy and so very content (and Sherlock had hurried to shove his jealousy away, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand) but after sensing the gloomy mood the brothers’ were in, had promptly grown concerned too. John is still asleep and Sherlock feels no desire to wake him up just yet: not until he has figured this out.

“Guess they weren’t joking about boarding school,” he says after what feels like a lifetime and Mycroft makes an agreeing, but pained noise. Sherlock isn’t quite sure what he’s feeling, other than numbness and he’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

“I should have known Mummy wouldn’t let the matter drop so easily,” Mycroft says after a beat, making a face after noticing he has run out of coffee. “We both should have known better.” Sherlock hums. He hasn’t bothered to pick up the letter since he really doesn’t want to read its contents, but he supposes he’ll have to sooner or later. “What are we going to do?” he questions softly, his mind going through the most likely scenarios he shall face if he does go to boarding school.

None of them are particularly pleasant, to be honest.

“I don’t know,” his brother murmurs dejectedly, looking far much older than he is. “I guess I’ll call Mummy and beg for mercy.”

Sherlock makes a face, not liking that idea one bit. He opens his mouth to say as much, but his brother silences him with a glare. Of course going to boarding school sounds like a miserable experience, but _talking_ to Mummy will lead to _bargaining_ with Mummy and he’s not quite sure they can afford to strike a deal with her.

“I’ll figure this out, Sherlock,” his brother promises earnestly and Sherlock nods tightly.

Life seems pretty much determined to push him and John apart. He wonders if he ought to take it as a sign.

He shakes his head, frustrated with himself. Now is really not the time to start wondering about _fate_ and stupid things like that. Now he has very real, very tangible troubles and he needs to stay focused.

He’s not one to give up easily, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
>  
> 
> I do need to get to those essays of mine one of these days but why do they have to be so   
>  _  
>  boring?   
>  _  
>  Fic writing is infinitely more rewarding and well… I can’t quite help myself ;)
> 
>  
> 
> That being said, I swear I’m going to write at least 5 pages before the next update, so it might take a while :P
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! Pretty please let me know what you thought?


	17. Little lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft comes up with a crazy plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that? Using fic writing as incentive for working on my essays worked marvels for my productivity! I wrote 20 pages in 2 days! I’m in awe, really :P  
> This chapter is… well, the twist might be crazy, but give it a shot, alright? If you still think it’s crap after finishing it- well, let me know.  
> So, here we are! Enjoy!

“I do fear about the future of the country,” Sherlock says sarcastically. “If you’re left in charge of bargaining with hostile nations, I dread to think of the fate that awaits us.”

Mycroft glares half heartedly, thinking Sherlock does have a point. Then again, he doubts hostile nations are half as thick headed, cold hearted and completely unreasonable as Mummy. “I did it for you, Sherlock,” he says darkly. “The least you can do is say  _ thank you _ and not make rude comments about my negotiation abilities.”

His little brother huffs, dropping himself unceremoniously on the chair in front of the desk. “I would, had you actually accomplished something. But from what I heard, I’m still going to boarding school and you got a  _ date.” _

Mycroft groans, hiding his face behind his hands. “I’m hoping that if it goes well, Mummy will relent on the subject of your education.”

Sherlock makes a face. “I really don’t understand how you getting a girlfriend Mummy approves of will somehow make Mummy reconsider sending me away.”

“Well, it’ll prove I’m doing exactly what she expects of me,” Mycroft answers darkly, rubbing the bridge of his nose absent mindedly. “Which might convince her I’m actually capable of looking after you.”

“Oh, please,” the younger boy complains. “Haven’t you proved that in the last- what, ten years? I’d be dead otherwise, wouldn’t I?”

Mycroft shrugs. “I don’t think that’s quite what she means by looking after you.”

“Getting me to be like you- playing the perfect dutiful son- is a perfectly ridiculous expectation.”

Mycroft agrees, but what he thinks makes no difference. “Nevertheless- I must prove to her I’m doing with my life exactly what she expects of me, so she might believe I can  _ get you _ onto the right track too.”

Sherlock frowns. “I don’t like your plan,” he says very seriously. “And what exactly are you planning on telling Lestrade?”

And that’s a very good question, isn’t it? Mycroft keeps his gaze down, unsure of what to answer. “I don’t think telling him something would be a good idea,” he says after a long pause. “It seems- unnecessary to trouble him with this.”

“Have you lost your mind?” his baby brother demands, looking very evidently upset. “If you don’t tell him and he finds out- he’ll think you’re actually cheating on him.”

Yes, that’s a likely scenario. However- “I guess I’ll just have to be very careful.”

Sherlock glares, crossing his arms over his chest. “You come up with the most ridiculous, convoluted plans,” he informs him darkly. “There’s no way this will end well.” Mycroft sighs, thinking his baby brother is right, but at lost of what else can he do. Short from fighting with Mummy for custody (and let’s be realistic: he’s never going to win that), he doesn’t think there’s anything left for him to do.

“It’ll be over soon,” he promises. “Gregory will never find out.”

Sherlock scoffs. “Just know that if you get me to lose my access to cold cases and the occasional active one- I’ll make you regret it.”

Ah, how lovely to know he has his brother’s unconditional love and support.

Ungrateful little brat.

* * *

 

Ms. Smallwood is a polite, well educated, mild mannered woman whose family has more money than good sense and as many political connections as the Holmes. She couldn’t be any more perfect for him (according to Mummy, anyway) and, for some strange reason, she actually seems interested in him, so she seems like the most appropriate candidate for his little charade.

Mycroft isn’t one to consider other people’s  _ feelings,  _ not really, not when there are important matters at stake. So he doesn’t feel exactly  _ guilty  _ about lying to the woman and besides, he reasons with himself, after a date or two she’ll come to the conclusion he’s an utter bore and will only be too happy of calling things off.

Which is perfect for his plan: considering their very demanding schedules, it’s unlikely those two dates will take place in a short span of time and by the time Ms. Smallwood  _ dumps _ him, Mycroft will have managed to convince Mummy he’s following the path she traced for him ages ago and so he’ll be allowed to keep  _ supervising _ his brother’s education.

Of course it’s not necessarily a good plan, but it’ll work and that, he thinks, it’s good enough.

* * *

 

But for all his brilliance and cunning, it seems Mycroft still has much to learn on the matter of _relationships,_ since it it never even occured him he might actually feel _bad_ about lying to his boyfriend. It’s the oddest thing really, since he’s not actually _lying:_ he’s simply avoiding mentioning why they can’t meet next Tuesday. Gregory doesn’t even _asks_ questions and for some reason, that makes him feel even _guiltier._

This sentiment thing is truly horrid.

But he must endure: he’s quite convinced Gregory won’t approve of his plan and Mycroft won’t budge on this particular matter. Therefore telling the  _ truth  _ will have the unsavory result of actually ending their relationship and so he’d rather not say anything at all.

All his reasoning doesn’t make him feel any less guilty, though.

But needs must.

* * *

 

The so-called date isn’t as horrid as he feared; Ms. Smallwood ( _ Alice is fine, really _ ) is a surprisingly interesting individual. He had assumed she was smart (unlike the rest of her family) considering they do work close together, even if not on the same projects, but he hadn’t been quite prepared for her charming wit.

But of course that doesn’t really matter: Mycroft’s heart already has an owner and even if it didn’t belong to someone else, he finds he’s not physically attracted to the female. Then again, he had never been actually physically interested in someone until he meet Gregory.

He sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. The fact that the date actually went  _ well  _ is nothing but a complication for his plans: he needs Ms. Smallwood to decide he’s not worth the hassle so she can call the whole thing off and he can tell Mummy that  _ he did try;  _ it just wasn’t meant to be.

Busy as he’s planning for his next move, he’s not paying any attention to his surroundings and so he’s quite surprised by the lone figure standing outside his home.

Oh, this can’t be good. “Gregory! What are you doing here? We agreed-”

“You failed to mention that the reason you couldn’t meet me was because you were  _ seeing  _ a woman,” his boyfriend tells him, tone oddly light for someone who has just discovered he might be being cheated on. Mycroft opens his mouth to attempt to defend himself, but the other man silences him with a glare. “Sherlock told me. He also explained your reasons (which I think are utter crap) and that’s the reason I’m willing to actually  _ listen  _ to you, instead of just dumping your cheating ass.”

“I’m not cheating on you!” Mycroft exclaims hotly. “If Sherlock has indeed spoken to you,” -and the little bastard has so much explaining to do- “you know that what I’m trying to do-”

“Oh, please,” Gregory says, rolling his eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous reason I’ve ever heard! Just how long are you going to let your mother keep on dictating your life? Because if you’re going to listen to her  _ forever,  _ we might as well call this thing off  _ now.  _ There’s no way in hell she’s ever going to approve of me and I won’t stand for-”

“I don’t care what she thinks about you!” he yells, his tone desperate. “This isn’t about what Mummy wants from me! It’s about what I need to do so she keeps trusting me with Sherlock’s supervision!”

Gregory scowls darkly. “You can not-”

“I can not let my brother be shipped off to some boarding school in the country!” Mycroft exclaims, desperation dripping from his every word. “He’ll never survive it: he’s too- you know how he is. The other boys will be  _ merciless. _ ”

His boyfriend makes a face, knowing that much is true. It’s not only that Sherlock won’t like it there or that he’ll be separated from his best friend (and now boyfriend): it’s that his life will actually turn into a living hell and only god knows what could happen then.

“Couldn’t you have thought of something else?” the older man questions, oddly vulnerable. “Or at least told me?”

Mycroft sighs. “I didn’t- I didn’t want to risk you not understanding my reasons.”

The other sighs too, running his fingers through his hair. “I do understand your reasons,” he murmurs after a beat. “I just- I don’t like this plan of yours. It seems- I don’t-” he sighs once more, not looking directly at Mycroft. “But if you believe it’ll work I suppose I’ll just- I do trust you, Mycroft.”

The younger man’s swells with affection and guilt threatens to drown him at the same time. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t do this if I thought there’s something else that would convince Mummy to change her mind.”

Gregory’s face is quite expressive and Mycroft does think that it might be for the best that he never actually  _ meets  _ Mummy. That just won’t end well for anyone involved. “I hope that one day, when Sherlock is legally an adult at least, you’ll choose to give up on that toxic relationship with your parents.”

Mycroft would laugh, even if bitterly, if he didn’t think his boyfriend would be offended by that. Oh, he’s well aware that that’s not how most family relationships work, but then, they’ve never been a conventional family since they’re hardly conventional people. “Do you- that is- are you angry with me?”

Gregory sighs once more, coming to stand in front of him so he can wrap him in his arms and Mycroft melts at the contact. “I am,” the older man deadpans. “But not as angry anymore.” He kisses his cheek and Mycroft smiles apologetically. “Although- what about this girl you’re seeing?”

“What about her?” he asks, honestly puzzled and his boyfriend rolls his eyes.

“You can’t simply toy with people’s feelings!” he exclaims, scandalized and Mycroft has to roll his eyes at the comment.

“I’m hardly doing such thing. I’ll admit she seems… interested in me, somewhat, but she’ll hardly be heartbroken if things don’t work out. Besides, the plan is  _ for her to decide  _ I’m too much of a bore.”

“And how exactly will you accomplish that?” his boyfriend questions. “Because to me, you’re the most interesting person in the world.”

Well- that’s flattering, for sure, but Mycroft is quite convinced he’s the only one that thinks that, so-

It’ll be fine, really.

* * *

 

The second date takes place a little bit sooner than Mycroft expected. It just never occured him that Ms. Smallwood would actually be interested enough to make room in her very busy schedule so they can go out again only a week later. 

His slight miscalculation makes him wonder if he should start looking for a different approach, since it seems his plan might get derailed.

He’s beginning to think he bit more than he can chew.

And that just won’t end well for anyone.

* * *

 

“Lady Smallwood tells me things are going well between you and Alice.”

Mycroft closes his eyes, relieved beyond words. It’s been 3 dates already and September is fast approaching. He knew he needed to put his plan into motion soon, but he had also known he couldn’t be the one to call. So he forced himself to wait, even if the wait was torture.

“She’s an agreeable woman,” he answers non committedly, careful not to overplay his hand. If Mummy suspects something is off, it’ll all would have been for nothing.

His mother hums thoughtfully. “That’s good enough, I suppose,” she replies after a beat. “And of course, her family is very well connected.”

It’s going well enough, he supposes. “Indeed. It would be a most profitable match; for both of us, really.”

Mummy hums once more. “Well. Do keep me informed on your progress,” she says, about to hang up and he knows he needs to ask now, even if he realizes Mummy is bond to realize something might be slightly amiss.

“Mummy, about Sherlock-”

“Oh, good Heavens,” his mother says, tone exasperated. “Really, Mycroft- you worry entirely too much about him.” Yes, he does, but someone  _ has  _ to. “Him going away for school might do you both a world of good. It’ll certainly leave you with more  _ free  _ time to engage in other…  _ activities. _ ”

Mycroft cringes at the implication. Besides- “Mummy, I really don’t think that’s-”

“He does need a firmer hand, Mycroft,” she states calmly. “When was the last time he had a proper tutor? And being forced to socialize with other children his age-”

“But he doesn’t- you know he doesn’t-”

“Exactly!” she exclaims, entirely too cheerful for Mycroft’s tastes. “Unlike you, who never liked people but did know how to interact with them, Sherlock simply doesn’t know how to be around other people. It’ll get him to learn to control that imprudent mouth of his.”

God, does she know how horrible that sounds? “Perhaps something a little less drastic?” he pleads desperately, an idea forming in his head. “He could go to a public school here. It should accomplish basically the same and-”

“Dear Lord, a school in London? Of course not! The scandal-!”

“He wouldn’t know anyone there,” Mycroft argues, well aware he’s grasping at straws. “No convenient connections to get him out of trouble- you know how it is with people at  _ our level.  _ Children from other socioeconomic backgrounds however-” god, how  _ snobby  _ that sounds and he hates every word leaving his mouth and yet-

“You have a fair point,” his mother interrupts him and Mycroft closes his eyes. He doesn’t really understand what Mummy’s plan is, but he had to try and it seems it did work, so- “Will you find him a suitable school, then?”

“Yes, of course-”

“Somewhere he won’t be coddled,” Mummy says, her tone having gone low and dark and Mycroft can’t help the shiver running down his spine. “Somewhere where he’ll learn to behave or face the consequences.”

“Of course, Mummy.”

A thoughtful hum and Mycroft dares to believe their crazy plan has succeeded. “Alright then. I have to go now but do keep me posted, dear.” Mycroft holds back his relieved sigh and murmurs an affirmative response. “I did know I could trust you, dear,” she adds in an afterthought before hanging up and Mycroft hates the flare of pride the words infuse within him.

Gregory might really be onto something.

Maybe his relationship with his parents (with Mummy particularly) is truly fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I debated long and hard with myself whether or not I really wanted to go with this. It seemed perfectly logical inside my head, but I don’t know if it truly makes sense. It does to me, but I do come up with pretty crazy convoluted plans to solve things :P  
> But since it was crazy, I decided to tone down the drama a little bit and have the boys talking things through, like the actual adults they are. There’ll be some more of that in the future chapters and we’ll see how Mycroft’s crazy plan plays out ;) (I promise I won’t fall into my dramatic, angsty ways)  
> On a slightly different note, from what we know in canon, Lady Smallwood is married, so that would be her husband’s last name (I think? Changing last names is so weird to me. Also, her first name is- well. Canon is a bit messed up) but well- it works, doesn’t it? Also, by this point she wouldn’t be “Lady” just yet, although apparently her mother is :P  
> That part is really weird, I don’t really know.   
> Let me know what you thought? Pretty please?  
> Thanks for reading!


	18. Everchanging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock attends school

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I struggled so much with the start of this and I’m still not quite convinced it works, but well… I really didn’t know where else to start :P  
> Enjoy!

When Sherlock was 5, his greatest wish was to go to school.

He saw the other children running around the playground, laughing and yelling and being merry and he had wanted so desperately to be part of that. He hadn’t had any friends while living in Sussex (except Redbeard and look how that turned out) and he had thought going to school might give him the chance to finally change that.

Of course Mummy had said no.

During that first year in London, Mycroft would take him to parks that were close enough to schools, under the reasoning that parents were likely to bring their children there after school. They did and Sherlock tried desperately to fit in, but the other kids found him odd and he just didn’t know how to behave around them.

Eventually, he had given up on the whole making-friends business.

He was still curious about school, though. Maybe because Mummy was so strictly against, he found himself wondering about it. He wanted to go to school like regular children (even if he was aware _ he wasn’t  _ like regular children); he wanted to experience it, even if it was only once, even if he found it dreadful.

On this single thing, he wanted to try being like everybody else.

Maybe that way he’d finally fit in.

* * *

 

Sherlock wants to tell Mycroft he’s too old for this “first day of school” routine, but to be honest, he does feel like a 3 year old on his first day in kindergarten.

So he does feel slightly comforted by the fact that his brother decided to take the morning off so he could drive him to school and fuss over his clothes, his lunch and his books. The fact that Lestrade decided to do the same thing is both moving and frustrating, because he really  _ really  _ doesn’t need another parent figure.

His relationship with Mycroft is- complicated. He does love his brother, there’s no denying that, but a part of him…  _ resents  _ him a little. He treats him more like a son than like a brother, but  _ he’s not his father.  _ He knows it’s not exactly fair on Mycroft to resent that fact and he supposes he’s thankful he picked up their parents slack, but-

It’s complicated, really.

“So, first day of school!” Lestrade exclaims, full of false cheer. Both Holmes brothers cringe, but the older man doesn’t seem to notice. “Are you excited? Nervous? A bit of both?”

Sherlock attempts to glare, but all the rolling his stomach is doing probably makes it lose a bit of effect. Lestrade smiles fondly,  _ affectionately  _ and Sherlock isn’t sure if he wants to yell at him or hug him.

“It’s going to be fine,” the police officer carries on, undeterred by his companions’ silence. “It’ll be fun, you’ll see! And John’s going to be there, so it’s not like you’ll be alone.” Yes, that’s the one saving grace of the school, Sherlock supposes. “And if you have any trouble you just have to let me know-”

Sherlock opens his mouth to say something rude probably (he’s not really thinking about it, but he tends to do that when he’s feeling unnerved) but he catches Mycroft’s look in the rearview mirror and promptly snaps it shut. It certainly won’t do to pick up a fight with his brother’s boyfriend, particularly not if one considers all the trouble those two have gone through to get Sherlock to attend a school in London, instead of shipping him off to France.

Still- “Your false cheer isn’t helping one bit, Lestrade. Kindly drop the act; we all know today’s going to be hell.”

The older man frowns, looking troubled. “Let’s stay positive, alright?” he suggests, still cheerfully but slightly less obviously fake and Sherlock is hard pressed not to groan. Still, he supposes he can try.

If nothing else, it’ll get his self appointed parents off his back.

God, that was one hell of a weird thought, wasn’t it?

* * *

 

John can probably tell he’s nervous, but he doesn’t comment. Instead he simply takes Sherlock’s things and grabs him by the hand, pulling him towards the school. From the corner of his eye he catches Mycroft and Lestrade exchanging concerned looks, but he forces himself to ignore his worry.

It’ll be fine, surely.

He looks at John, who is smiling at him, still holding his hand and he tells himself everything is going to be perfectly fine.

John has that funny ability:

He always makes him feel safe when he’s around.

* * *

 

“Bored.”

John smiles fondly at him, patting his hand. Sherlock glares, because he’s truly bored and he wants a distraction, not  _ sympathy.  _ This school business is truly dreadful and he doesn’t know how people survive so many years of this endless torture.

And he thought he had it bad with his private tutors.

“John-” he begins but his boyfriend silences him with a look, quickly turning his attention back to the blackboard. Sherlock pouts, resting his chin against the table and staring at nothing in particular. The teacher tells him something, but he isn’t really paying attention and so he’s not very surprised when he’s given extra homework (that he has no plans of doing, of course).

He rolls his eyes as the teacher keeps on chiding him, thinking it’s not really his fault he already knows all of this and so he finds the whole lesson so impossibly boring. Then again, the teacher doesn’t really help with her drowsy tone and her never ending string of words.

Torture, truly.

And to think he has 2 more years of this to look forward.

He makes a face. At least Mycroft got him to skip two years, landing him on John’s year. He knows his brother did it on purpose, probably hoping John would keep him out of trouble. Sherlock sends a speculative glance in his boyfriend’s direction and wonders if John will mind terribly if he gets them both in detention.

He rather hopes not, because there’s no way he’s going to sit quietly through their lessons for the next 2 years.

That just seems impossible.

* * *

 

“So, what did you think?” John asks casually, a little _ too casually  _ to be believable.

Sherlock sighs. “It wasn’t terrible.” His boyfriend beams and Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically. “It’s not like I can decide to stop attending, John. So really, it matters not whether or not I liked it.”

John makes a face. “Well, yes, but I mean- I don’t- It’s not a lot of fun, I know, but I was hoping you’d find it bearable.” He shrugs, looking a bit sheepish. “I did enjoy having you around all day.”

Sherlock’s heart swells and he squeezes his friend’s hand, a big smile on his face. “Having you around was the best part, to be honest,” he says earnestly, earning himself a small smile. “And getting to hold hands most of the time.”

John blushes, but doesn’t comment and Sherlock smiles secretively. With all this mess they haven’t really gotten around talking about their relationship and so Sherlock hasn’t told John his… insecurities about their lack of physical affection, but the fact that he’s willing to hold hands in public suggests he’s not embarrassed of Sherlock and that he doesn’t mind people knowing they’re dating.

And that’s good enough for him.

* * *

 

“Ugh. Do they really need to do that where we can hear them?”

John giggles, pulling Sherlock closer and kissing the top of his head. “You have keen hearing,” the other boys says. “It’s not their fault. I really can’t hear a thing.”

Sherlock makes a face, burying his face in his boyfriend’s neck. He then makes a face, because this is getting increasingly difficult since his limbs insist on growing while John remains mostly the same height. “I’m going to be taller than you,” he murmurs sulkily and John arches an eyebrow, a hand running up and down Sherlock’s arm.

“That’s a bad thing?” he questions lightly, eyes still fixed on the TV, most of his attention on that dreadful action film he insisted on watching.

“It’s harder to cuddle,” Sherlock protests, attempting to rearrange his body on the couch. His boyfriend laughs, kissing the top of his head once more. “I’m serious, John. It’s no laughing matter!”

John laughs some more, making Sherlock pout and then proceeds to rearrange them on the couch, so he’s still holding Sherlock but they’re in a more comfortable position. “There. Happy now?”

Sherlock pouts again and John laughs, pecking his lips before turning his attention back to the movie.

Sherlock just smiles, snuggling closer.

* * *

 

Two days later they’re at John’s house, since Lestrade and Mycroft are being insufferably romantic and Sherlock simply can’t stand them any longer (John says he’s being dramatic, but he really isn’t). They’re allegedly studying, but in truth they’re simply lying on bed and making idle chit chat, which is something Sherlock would normally hate, but since this is John-

Well. John seems to be the exception to every rule.

And that’s when it happens.

John is giggling about something Sherlock said, a full belly laugh that makes Sherlock beam with pride. He enjoys making his friend happy and seeing him like this, so evidently content and- “God, I love you,” the words leave John’s lips in between giggles, completely out of nowhere and Sherlock’s brain comes to a complete stop. 

“What?” he asks eloquently, his brain still in complete shut down, his heart attempting to escape his chest.

“Oh, god,” John says, now looking horrified, sitting up abruptly. “Oh god, oh god. I didn’t mean- I wasn’t-”

Sherlock’s heart drops to his feet. “It’s fine. I don’t- I understand.”

John frowns, confused for a beat and then his expression clears up, somehow becoming even more horrified. “Not that! I mean- I do- I do love you. I just- I wasn’t planning on telling you anytime soon.”

Sherlock blinks. And blinks. And blinks some more. That’s- that’s-

“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright? Oh god, I fuck it up, didn’t I? Sherlock, I swear-”

But John never gets to finish that phrase, since he finds himself pinned against the wall, Sherlock kissing him thoroughly and enthusiastically, although very messily.

Not that either boy minds.

* * *

 

Lost in their own private world, full of bliss, it’s no wonder they don’t hear the front door opening, or the steps on the stairs o even Mr. Watson’s calls. Which is why both are so very surprised when the bedroom’s door opens and Mr. Watson is standing there, looking more than a little surprised.

They spring apart so quickly it’d be funny under any other circumstances but right now-

“Oh god, dad, I- Sherlock and I-”

“Mr. Watson, we didn’t-”

The older man halts them with a raised hand and both teens bit their lips, embarrassed and nervous, not knowing how Mr. Watson is going to react. “I think- umm- John, can we have a word? In private?”

The boys exchange a look and then John nods slowly. Sherlock stands up, heading towards the door, eying his friend’s father a bit warily. He doesn’t look angry, mostly surprised really, but-

Well. 

Better not to speculate much.

It’ll do nothing but worry him.

* * *

 

He waits by John’s locker, anxious. He considered calling last night, but decided against it in the last minute, figuring it might not be the best time. He spent a hellish night, tossing and turning, wondering what the new day might bring.

He stops biting on his lip, realizing he has made it bleed. He sighs, pulling out his phone to check out the hour and wondering if calling now would be a good idea. The bell is about to ring and John isn’t anywhere in sight, so-

“Hey.”

Sherlock jumps, startled. John chuckles, offering him an embarrassed smile when the younger boy glares. They stand there, just looking at each other, small playful smiles on their lips. “You could have texted me last night,” John says, opening his locker and taking out his books.

“I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea,” Sherlock murmurs, staring at his feet. “Are you- did you- what did your father said?”

John makes a face, his ears turning an alarming shade of red. “Nothing much, really. I mean- It certainly was the most uncomfortable conversation of my life, but all in all- I think it went well.” Sherlock nods slowly, thinking carefully about his next question, but John continues before he can ask anything. “And I got a pack of condoms for my troubles, so there’s that.”

Sherlock splutters, his own ears heating up. “What?”

John smirks playfully. “Well, my dad say, and I quote, ‘just because you can’t knock him up it doesn’t mean you ought not to be careful, Johnny’.”

Sherlock has turned a surprising shade of red and his boyfriend laughs, although he’s embarrassed too. “Yeah, so- well. As you can probably tell, he’s cool with us dating.”

The younger boy nods, biting onto his lip once more. “John I don’t- I don’t think- umm…” he gestures helplessly and John blushes a deeper shade of red.

“No, no! I mean- we don’t- there’s no- I don’t-” he shakes his head, still red as a tomato. “Let’s just forget about that, yeah? Not a subject we need to discuss anytime soon.”

Sherlock sighs, relieved despite himself. He thinks he’d do anything that would make John happy, but that’s- that’s a step he’s nowhere near ready to take or even certain he wants to ever take. “Right. Alright. We’re good, then?” he questions shyly and John smiles at him, before pecking him on the lips.

“We’re good.”

All as well then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Did I make you worry for a bit? (insert evil laughter) oh, come on guys, why would you think I’d pull our lovebirds apart? (smiles innocently)  
> It was a fun chapter to write, even if I struggled like crazy with some parts of it. I don’t know why, I just wasn’t too sure of what ought to be happening here :P  
> I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought, pretty please?  
> Next update might take a while again, because I should attempt to write at least 5 pages of my essay again… but we’ll see ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	19. Insecurity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It took me ages to figure out where I wanted to go with this but well… here we are! I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Mycroft opens his eyes, peering sleepily at his surroundings. He feels pleasantly warm and content, not really wanting to get out of bed at all, noisy bothersome alarm be damned. He’s vaguely aware he has an important meeting, but he can’t bring himself to care, instead happily burying himself closer to the soft heat source wrapped around him.

Wait, what?

He springs out of the bed, nearly toppling over after his foot gets tangled up with the sheets. Gregory blinks sleepily at him, obviously confused by being so rudely woken up, but still too sleepy to really care.

“Morning, gorgeous,” his boyfriend says happily, yawning. “Time to get up already?”

Mycroft continues staring at him, his heart beating madly inside his chest. This isn’t the first time they’ve slept in the same bed, but it’s the first time they have woken up in such position. Normally, after they kiss goodnight, Gregory is happy to roll to his side of the bed and stay there for the remaining of the night, not wanting to overwhelm Mycroft. While he has gotten more comfortable with physical affection in general, he still freaks out a little when things get too hot and heavy.

Not that he’d ever admit that aloud, of course, but Gregory seems to understand.

“Mycroft? Are you alright?” Gregory slips out of bed slowly, eyes trained on Mycroft, looking at him as if he’s expecting him to run away. Which, to be fair, Mycroft is seriously considering, but-

“I just- we were- umm…” he trails off uncertainly, feeling foolish now. There’s really no reason to get this worked up, not at all, and yet-

Gregory’s eyes swept from him to the bed, no doubt trying to work out what’s wrong with him. Mycroft blushes scarlet, embarrassed of his outburst. It’s more than silly, he knows and he really needs to get over this… _nervousness_ of his before he succeeds in scaring his boyfriend away, but-

“Hey, it’s fine,” the older man assures him gently, placing a hand over his shoulder lightly and Mycroft clutches the sheets he’s still wrapped in closer to his chest. He’s wearing his pajamas and yet he feels oddly bare, nervousness and dread making his stomach turn unpleasantly.

Gregory takes a step back, an odd look in his eyes and Mycroft can feel his heart plummeting. Somewhere in the distance his alarm is still ringing and he figures that’s the perfect way to escape this horribly awkward _conversation_. “I need to get ready for work,” he announces and Gregory nods absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the bed once more, not really taking notice of Mycroft’s escape.

Or at least that’s what the younger man thinks.

* * *

 

Mycroft thinks this day couldn’t get any worse.

Although, on second thought, it’s probably not wise to tempt fate by even thinking about such things. After all Sherlock might be at school now, but that hardly means he’s not capable of getting himself (and likely John) into trouble.

He sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. He had thought things had been going well, but now he’s not so sure. His relationship with Gregory seemed to have reached a comfortable point where there was enough physical affection to keep his partner happy and yet not overwhelm him (or at least that’s what he thought, based on Gregory’s general good mood, Sherlock’s constant complains of how disgusting they were and his own satisfaction with their little arrangement). It’s not that he doesn’t want more, because he supposes he does, but-

He sighs once more, turning his attention back to the paperwork that needs his attention. He was late for his earlier meeting, but not overly so and people were still discussing menial things when he made his appearance, so he supposes that went well. Now though he’s stuck with various documents that need to be revised and a series of calls that he’s not looking forward to be doing, but focusing on that should be better than continue over thinking about this morning.

Still-

He takes out his phone, toying with it for a few seconds, wanting to call his boyfriend but unsure of what to say. After his initial… _declaration,_ his following actions seem to be pretty contradictory. Poor Gregory must be more than a little confused and Mycroft wouldn’t blame him if he decided to call the whole thing off.

He’s really not worth the hassle.

And yet, he can’t help selfishly _hoping_ he won’t. He has tried to talk himself into simply pushing forward with their relationship, regardless of his inner doubt, but it has been of no use. No matter how much he _thinks_ about it, when the time comes to actually _act_ , he always freezes on the spot.

Which of course leads to a lot of awkward silences and uncomfortable pauses.

God, this is truly dreadful. He knew he shouldn’t have taken a chance on this romantic endeavour of his: it was obvious it simply wasn’t going to end well and yet-

There’s a knock on his door, pulling him out of his dark thoughts.He looks up, a part of him hoping some emergency has arisen and that he’ll be forced to pay attention to things _that actually matter,_ but after catching sight of his _visitor,_ his heart falls to his feet as he forces himself to smile politely.

“Ms. Smallwood,” he greets pleasantly, trying to come up with an excuse to dismiss her quickly. “I’m afraid your visit is a bit ill timed. As happy as I am of seeing you-”

The woman huffs, taking a seat in front of his desk, pointedly ignoring his words and crossing her arms in front of her chest. Mycroft stares at her, trying to figure out what’s going on, feeling a tad angsty and finally she speaks.

“What did Sherlock do this time?” she asks, almost casually, although there’s some anger in her tone. Mycroft blinks, heart picking up speed, suddenly worried about his brother.

“I beg your pardon?”

The woman rolls her eyes dramatically, glaring at him now. “Well, I assume he did something and you needed to calm your mother’s ire, which prompted you to ask me out in the first place.”

Mycroft blinks again. “What?”

Ms. Smallwood stares at him for a beat, some of her anger evaporating at Mycroft’s guilty look (that he’s trying to hide actually). “Don’t bother trying to deny it,” she says calmly, slightly sad now. “I just- I didn’t-” She sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “You could have told me. I mean- I know we’re not friends or anything, but I would have helped. I do know a thing or two about overbearing parents with ridiculous expectations.” She offers him a self depreciating smile and Mycroft’s heart aches, although he doesn’t quite understand why.

“I- I don’t-” He takes a deep breath, willing himself to say the words, despite not really liking apologizing. “I’m sorry.”

She sighs once more, leaning back on her seat. “I think the worst part is that I actually like you, Mycroft.” She smiles bitterly. “Seeing you with your actual boyfriend hurt more than I’d care to admit.”

Mycroft thinks he’s about to pass out. Where-?

She smiles tightly and he looks down, guilt threatening to drown him. “I’m sorry,” he repeats uselessly, because he doesn’t have a clue of what else he could say. He hadn’t thought much about Ms. Smallwood’s feelings: it really hadn’t occured him she would be more emotionally involved; why would she? After all, he’s just-

“So, what did Sherlock do?” she asks again and Mycroft sighs, figuring he can be honest about this at least.

“It’s not something he did, really. Mummy wanted- she wanted to sent him to a boarding school in France and I couldn’t- I thought he wouldn’t-” He gestures vaguely, frustrated with his own lack of eloquence. “I had to do something.”

She nods thoughtfully. “And it worked, I suppose?” He nods and she sighs. “Do you- is it necessary for us to carry on with this facade?”

He shakes his head. “I was hoping you’d dump me soon enough,” he replies honestly. “I figured once you saw how much of a bore I was-”

“Goodness,” she says, standing up abruptly, shaking her head. “You honestly think- I don’t-” she sighs again, fishing for something in her purse and then taking out a card that she offers him. “Here. It’s my therapist number. You should give her a call.”

“What-?”

“As I said,” she interrupts him sharply, a sad smile on her lips. “I do know a thing or two about bad parents.” She chuckles humorlessly, lost in her own thoughts for a beat. “Anyway. I guess this is it, then?”

Mycroft observes her in silence, wanting to say something else although he’s not quite sure what. He nods, eying the card from the corner of his eye. “Right,” Ms. Smallwood says, seemingly talking to herself. “Right. Goodbye then.”

And with that she’s gone, leaving a very confused Mycroft behind.

* * *

 

“Mycroft!”

Mycroft turns to look at his boyfriend, who’s looking deeply worried and he figures he has spaced out for quite a bit. He looks at the mess of papers over his desk and closes his eyes, willing the mess away. Nothing happens, evidently, and so he sighs frustratedly.

“Yes?” he asks, trying to put his papers back into some semblance of an order. He’s tired and nearly falling asleep, but he wants to be done with these reports tonight. Besides, he’s really not quite sure he wants to share his bed tonight, but he found no polite way to tell Gregory to go to his own home for the night.

He’s not even completely sure his boyfriend still has a place of his own, now that he thinks about it. He’s nearly always here (at night, at least) and it’s not like he has money to spare, so really, paying a rent for a place that’s always empty-

A snap of fingers make him focus again. He blinks, staring at his boyfriend who is now looking even more troubled. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs and god, he’s been saying that a lot, hasn’t he? “what were you saying?”

Gregory frowns. “I said, _are you coming to bed at some point?_ It’s nearly midnight, love.”

Mycroft glances at the wall clock and sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “In a bit. I just have-”

“Is this about what happened in the morning?”

And there it is. Of course Gregory would want to _talk._ Why can’t he simply let the matter rest? Why can’t they-?

“Mycroft! God, you need to stop spacing out on me.” Gregory does seem frustrated, but mostly concerned. Mycroft sighs, staring at his papers once more, willing himself to come up with a somewhat honest answer that will put the other man at ease.

Unfortunately, his mind seems just as tired as his body and is refusing to cooperate.

He realizes he’s being bodily dragged away from his desk and towards his bedroom, but while a part of his brain screams at him to stop this nonsense, he mostly doesn’t care. Gregory’s arms feels nice around him and why can’t everything be this simple? Why must he become so overwhelmed by such simple things as-

He gets unceremoniously deposited on the bed and so he snaps back into focus once more. Gregory is muttering to himself, helping him take off his shoes and carrying on with his socks. His suit jacket follows and as he starts working on his buttons, Mycroft stills his hands, panic gripping him.

“Mycroft?” his partner questions gently and the younger man closes his eyes, forcing himself to take deep breaths. This is silly, really; Gregory is just trying to get him more comfortable so they can go to sleep; there’s nothing sexual about this and yet- “Love, you’re really worrying me here.”

“I’m not good with this emotion business,” Mycroft mutters softly, eyes fixed on some point on the wall. “I don’t- I don’t really like it,” he confesses, careful not to meet Gregory’s eyes. “And the physical part… I thought it would be easier to handle, but then I start- I just feel so many damn things!” he exclaims frustrated. “I know it’s silly.”

“No, it isn’t,” his boyfriend assures him gently, a hand cupping his cheek. “It’s fine, really, I don’t-”

“It’s not!” Mycroft exclaims, standing up. “This morning I just- you were just cuddling me, for crying out loud! And I- I-”

“Mycroft, really,” Gregory interrupts him, grabbing him by the hands. “I get this can be overwhelming-”

“No, don’t you see? It’s just not normal-”

“It’s perfectly normal-”

“Oh, please. Have you seen my brother? He’s seven years younger than I-”

“Yeah, and that’s quite the point,” Gregory interrupts him sharply once more. “You never dealt with this feelings before. From what you and Sherlock himself have told me- you never had any interest in anyone before. And I- I know _you think_ you should be able to deal with this, but on this matter, in many ways you’re just like a preteen, Mycroft. It’s- it’s perfectly understandable. You have no experience to draw from upon and you never really concerned yourself with how relationships work: unlike your brother, you simply didn’t care for that. And it’s fine with me, I swear, I don’t care-”

“For how much longer?”

“Pardon?”

Mycroft takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. “How much longer do you think you can… put up with this? With me?”

Gregory blinks and then he looks horrified. Mycroft’s stomach clenches unpleasantly and he has to look away. He has managed to mess up horribly, hasn’t he? Oh, this isn’t-

“How can you-” the other begins and then shakes his head, looking somewhere between angry and sad. “Oh, love,” he murmurs, pulling him into his arms and Mycroft lets him, despite feeling like his heart is breaking into million of tiny pieces. “Your parents have so much to answer for.”

What do his parents have to do with anything, really?

He doesn’t ask, though, not wanting to pick up an argument now. He knows his parents are a sore subject with his boyfriend and while he understands his relationship with them isn’t ideal…

He really doesn’t understand what they have to do with anything.

“Let’s just go to sleep, yes?” he pleads softly, hating the way his voice shakes and he feels more than he hears Gregory’s sigh, but the other man nods before pressing a quick kiss against the top of his head.

“Alright,” his boyfriend murmurs, kissing his forehead once. “Let’s.”

They lay down, Gregory carefully keeping enough distance between their bodies. Mycroft sighs, feeling oddly raw and so he rolls onto his side before carefully maneuvering himself closer to his partner. He can feel Gregory’s hesitation but he finally wraps an arm around his middle, pulling him closer.

“I think this might be a little too soon,” Gregory whispers against his ear once the lights are out and no other sound but their breathing can be heard inside the bedroom. “But I think- I think I love you.”

Mycroft squeezes the hand laying over his stomach, hoping Gregory will understand what he can’t bring himself to say out loud. He can feel his heart beating entirely too loudly and erratically inside his chest and while it isn’t exactly pleasant, he is happy.

It’s too much of a joyous revelation for him to feel anything else, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good god… I have officially reached the point where I have no clue what I’m doing XD  
> It wasn’t horrid though, was it? I feel like something is missing, but I have no clue whatsoever what. Also, nothing really happened here, but I’m trying to tie up everything nicely so our boys can have their promised wedding and everyone can live happily ever after and I’m not sure if I’m messing it horribly? Endings are hard.  
> I think this will have 3-4 more chapters, mostly because as I said, I don’t know what I’m doing. I think I might be losing inspiration for working on this, but I do intend to finish!  
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!


	20. A look back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I think it might be on the short side, but well… I wasn’t quite sure what else to write :P  
> Enjoy!

School is not without its charms, Sherlock has discovered.

His unlimited access to an actual laboratory and quite a bit of chemicals, for one (although he had sort of blackmailed the chemistry teacher to get that privilege, but that’s not here nor there). The chance to spend even more time with John instead of sulking around the school’s grounds waiting for classes to be over too. And now-

He hadn’t been exactly happy at the prospect of John joining the rugby team. He had thought it’d only take John away for practice and games and whatnot, so he had tried to reason with his boyfriend that it was a really  _ really _ bad idea.

John, however, had put his foot down.

To be fair, that’s one of John’s most charming qualities: his refusal to be swayed once he has made up his mind. It speaks of a strength of character and while it might be somewhat frustrating from time to time-

Well. It’s one of the many reasons Sherlock is in love with him.

On this subject however- well, it goes without saying Sherlock had been annoyed and had sulked for weeks. John had simply ignored him, going as far as not going to his house after school and so Sherlock had figured he’d have to give in on this particular matter.

Boy, is he glad he did.

It shouldn’t be this… thrilling watching his boyfriend’s practice, but Sherlock can’t help himself. It must have something to do with how absolutely… _ delicious _ John looks in his rugby uniform and Sherlock thinks he does play well, judging by how well his team is doing and how joyful John looks.

It certainly does things to his insides.

“You might want to close your mouth,” a feminine voice says from next to him, startling him. “You’re starting to drool.”

Sherlock blushes and turns to glare at Janine, or at least attempts to. Considering that thanks to her (in a way) John realized he had feelings for Sherlock, the younger boy is actually quite fond of the girl.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes already fixed on John once more despite himself. Janine laughs, making him look in her direction once more.

“You’re adorable, really,” she tells him merrily, pushing her long hair back. “Mary dragged me along, actually,” she explains as Sherlock continues staring at her unamusedly. “She’s quite… interested in one of the older boys.” She smiles, but her eyes are infinitely sad and Sherlock’s heart aches in sympathy.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you,” he says, unsure if that’s the right thing to say. He does want to be comforting, but he’s generally bad at this  _ emotion _ -thing. 

Janine shrugs non committedly. “Some things are just not meant to be,” she declares solemnly, eyes fixed on some point at the corner of the field, where Sherlock can see Mary talking to a tall dark haired boy.

He pats her knee awkwardly and Janine offers him a sad smile before resting her head against his shoulder. He freezes a little, not really used to this amount of physical contact coming from someone other than John and the girl giggles, shaking her head. “Adorable, really,” she repeats goodnaturedly. “And it’s such fun to get your boyfriend all worked up.”

Sherlock looks back at the field, where John is now glaring at them despite the distance. Janine waves at him cheerfully and John narrows his eyes further, prompting a giggle fit from the girl.

“You’re up for a hot make out session,” she tells him cheerfully, sitting up straight once more, winking as Sherlock blushes furiously. “You can thank me later.” She leans down to kiss his cheek, waving at John once more as Sherlock turns a darker shade of red.

And with that she’s gone, laughing once more, leaving a very flustered Sherlock behind.

* * *

 

“What did she want?” John demands as soon as practice is over, still muddy and sweaty from the game, having come to confront Sherlock before heading towards the showers.

Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically. “Get you worked up,” he replies easily and since John keeps on glaring, he sighs. “Relax, will you? Janine preferences… well, let’s just say I’m entirely the wrong gender.”

John’s eyes widen. “Oh. Well, I suppose that’s- but then she just- she kissed you!”

Sherlock isn’t quite sure which occasion is John exactly referring to, but he figures it matters not. He pulls his boyfriend into a kiss, which is quite uncomfortable considering the position they’re in, but neither minds particularly.

“You really should hit the showers,” Sherlock says, finally pulling back and earning himself a playful glare from his friend.

As he watches John leave, he wonders if Janine was right about the make out session.

He rather hopes she was.

* * *

 

While intellectually he knows they’re too young to be doing anything other than kissing, his messy teenager hormones seem to have very different thoughts on the matter.

He’s turning fifteen next January, though and so he’s really a mess of teenage hormones that insist they know better than his brain. It’s certainly enjoyable to have his boyfriend basically lying on top of him and kissing him enthusiastically, but he must insist going any further is probably a very bad idea.

He isn’t quite sure why, particularly not when John is doing  _ that thing  _ with his tongue, but he’s fairly certain it’s a bad idea to jump into a sexual relationship at their age. Something about not being mature enough.

But truly, hormones are traitorous things.

“We need to stop,” he pants, pushing John off. “We can’t- we shouldn’t-”

“Right, right,” John agrees, rolling off him, breathing harshly. “Sorry about that. I guess I just- I was-” He gestures vaguely and Sherlock can’t help the giggle than escapes him, prompting a fond smile from his best friend, who pulls him into an awkward hug, kissing the top of his head gently. “Seeing you with Janine got me insanely jealous.”

Sherlock chuckles, curling closer, enjoying John’s warmth far too much. “You’re ridiculous,” he announces calmly, kissing the underside of his jaw. “There’s no one else for me,” he adds, a bright smile on his face.

John hums in acknowledgment, pulling him closer.

Sherlock closes his eyes, thinking this is more than enough.

He couldn’t be happier, really.

* * *

 

“Have we moved from petty theft to expensive jewelry?” Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically, glaring over his shoulder at Lestrade, who is smirking. The girl at the counter seems to relax, having been watching Sherlock closely for the last ten minutes, probably figuring out that now that a police officer is here, she doesn’t have to worry about any jewelry being stolen. 

How naive of her.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade warns, although his tone is still playful. The teenager rolls his eyes once more, figuring his  _ shopping  _ will have to wait for later and so obediently placing the watch back on the counter. 

The shop attendant blinks, obviously surprised.

Lestrade smiles tightly at her. “Sorry about that,” he apologises, gently nudging Sherlock so he’ll apologise too.

He’ll be waiting for a long time, as far as Sherlock’s concerned.

The officer shakes his head, before pulling the boy out of the store with him, still offering apologies to the shop attendant. The girl seems a bit befuddled and Lestrade’s charm certainly helps, for she doesn’t say a thing, nor she threatens to call the police if Sherlock ever shows up there again.

“That was one hell of an expensive watch,” the older man says as he escorts him back home. Sherlock glares, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Mycroft is at the office,” he announces. “I know my way back home.”

Lestrade has the decency to blush, but promptly ignores Sherlock’s statement. “As I said, that was a very expensive watch. Special occasion?” he prods and Sherlock has to give him  _ cookie points  _ for his subtlety (not really).

“Anniversary,” he replies simply and Lestrade stops on his tracks.

“Anniversary? That can’t be. I’m fairly certain your brother and I started dating before you did and I’m fairly certain we haven’t been dating that long. Have we?” he hesitates, obviously going through dates inside his head and Sherlock rolls his eyes once more.

“You’ve been dating for exactly 10 months, 2 weeks, 5 days. I’m sure my brother has the count down to the exact second inside his head, but his agenda only goes so far.”

“Wha-”

“John and I been dating for 6 months,” he continues, ignoring Lestrade. “It might not be that long, but…” he shrugs, now feeling a bit sheepish. “I wanted to mark the date.”

Lestrade smiles fondly and he scowls, making the older man laugh good naturedly. “You’re a real romantic, lad. Even if you like to pretend otherwise.”

Sherlock scowls some more, stubbornly staring forward. Lestrade laughs once more, shaking his head. “How exactly do you know how long Mycroft and I’ve been dating?”

“I’ve already told you,” he argues tiredly. “His phone agenda-”

“But why would you have access to that?”

Oh crap. “I… umm… I’ve found it’s always useful to know my brother’s whereabouts,” he replies flippantly, aiming to keep his tone light. “In case something comes up.”

Lestrade is smirking and that can’t be a good thing. “Of course,” he agrees, but his smirk tells a different tale and Sherlock doesn’t know what to think. “Well, I should leave you now. I do need to do my work from time to time, instead of looking after you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,” the teenager argues and Lestrade nods, before extending his hand. “What?”

“The other watch,” the man replies and Sherlock pouts, silently surrendering his prize and glaring at the officer. “There’s a good lad. Have a pleasant evening,” he adds with a wink, before heading back the way they came.

Sherlock just glares at his retreating back.

If he must be honest, he  _ is  _ fond of his brother’s boyfriend.

It doesn’t mean he isn’t a pain in the ass, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?
> 
> As I said, it turned rather short, but I do like it. I feel we’re missing something on our younger boys story, but I have no clue what… Suggestions?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!
> 
>  
> 
>  


	21. Ain’t no particular way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It’s… not exactly what I wanted. I’ve been wanting to write this chapter almost since I came up with the original idea, but I’m not sure if I managed to make it as cute as I wanted and just feels… corny.  
> I changed the chapter’s title last minute because I happened to listen to Shania Twain’s song while I was editing it :P  
> Also, I attempted to write some mild smut. It’s- weird, I’d say. If you don’t want to read it, just skip the final part: I’ll be marking it with a double separation so you know when to stop reading ;)  
> Enjoy!

There are 4 toothbrushes on the bathroom sink.

It seems pretty ridiculous to be focusing on such things, but there haven’t been 4 toothbrushes on the bathroom sink since Mycroft turned 10 and was deemed old enough to look after himself and his baby brother.

As he makes his way downstairs, he makes a mental recount of all the new “additions” to the house. There are extra clothes both in his brother’s and his own closet, not to mention the added trips to the laundry that now he needs to do. There’s always food in both the pantry and the refrigerator, despite the fact he rarely has the time to do the shopping. There are 4 jackets hanging at the closet in the entrance. There are always dirty dishes on the sink, even when he hasn’t had breakfast yet. The lights are always on when he comes back home.

He has to sit down on the stairs for a minute, since he suddenly feels light headed.

It’s ridiculous to get this affected by something like this, he thinks, but he can’t help it. He never- it’s just he had gotten so used to being alone (of course Sherlock was technically always around, but his brother spent so much time _avoiding him_ ) and now- now it just seems-

He stands up, embarrassed of how _emotional_ he’s getting over something so simple. Surely people don’t get this worked up over something as ridiculous as domesticity? Of course not. He’s being silly and he knows it.

He continues making his way to the kitchen and has to stop outside the door to collect himself once more as he hears the sound of the people on the other side. Sherlock is complaining loudly about Gregory’s culinary skills, John just makes agreeing noises, not precisely a morning person and Gregory is laughing.

It’s so silly, really.

But this- he never thought he’d have this. He always assumed he would continue living with his brother as if they were two strangers sharing a roof (even if he worried constantly about him) until they were both too old for that and then they would go their different ways (and Mycroft would continue worrying in the distance). Now though-

He has a home and a family.

And isn’t that wonderful?

 

* * *

 

The restaurant they’re in is nice, without being overly fancy. Expensive, but not overly so; small but not crowded, the atmosphere romantic and intimate.

In short, the perfect place to celebrate their anniversary.

Mycroft is nervous though; he’s never done this before (obviously) and isn’t quite sure what’s the protocol for things like this. He’d admit to having done a bit of research (to his assistant's eternal amusement. Her suggestion of just _rolling with it_ had been more than a little unhelpful, too) but it certainly hadn’t shed much light over his conundrum. After his… revelation from the other morning, he’s more determined than ever to make sure this works and so determined to do everything in his power to ensure precisely that.

He’s good at planning long term. Very good, actually. And he’s a genius, too, so figuring this out should be easy, right? _Right?_

He nearly jumps out of his seat when Gregory places his hand over his. His boyfriend offers him a small smile that somehow manages to convey amusement and worry and Mycroft finds himself relaxing almost immediately. He smiles back, intertwining his fingers with his partner's and continues pretending to peruse the menu, although food is the farthest thing from his mind.

Dinner goes well, although he’s left reeling once more when he realizes they discuss many everyday concerns; he knew Gregory had become quite entwined in his life; he hadn’t realized just how many things they actually share.

“Do you still have your flat?” he finds himself asking suddenly, interrupting Gregory’s tale of Sherlock latest complain over… something. His brother always finds something to complain about anyway.

Gregory blinks, confused by the sudden change of topic. “Yes?” Mycroft hums and the older man frowns. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re always around,” he replies with a small shrug, eyes fixed on his food. “I just- it seems like an unnecessary expense.”

His boyfriend’s frown deepens. “Yeah, but I wasn’t about to move in without asking you first.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

God, he hates when his mouth runs away from his brain. Gregory smiles gently, squeezing his knee from underneath the table and sending an electric jolt through Mycroft, although he’s careful to keep his face perfectly blank. “I wouldn’t mind either,” he confesses quietly. “Although… it might not be a good idea.”

“Why?” Mycroft demands, immediately concerned and his boyfriend makes a face.

“Well, next time your parents visit…”

Oh. Right. Mummy will never approve of Gregory. That would be… problematic, yes.

“On a slightly related note,” his boyfriend says after an awkward pause. “I was thinking- I mean, I know it might be a little premature since we haven’t been dating that long but- remember I told you sometimes you just know it?”

Mycroft nods hesitantly. He does remember that particular conversation, he’s just not sure where this is heading and Gregory’s nervousness makes him nervous in turn. “Right. So, well, the thing is… umm… I’ve been thinking- and it’s fine if you say no, I swear, I just thought…” He’s looking for something in his jacket’s pocket and Mycroft’s frown deepens, more than a little confused now. “Here,” Gregory says, sliding a small square jewelry box towards him.

Mycroft’s heart stops in his chest. It can’t be what he’s thinking, can it? “Mycroft?”

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves and opens the box, revealing a plain golden band.

Oh.

“If it’s too soon- I mean, I understand if you-”

“We haven’t even had sex!” Mycroft finds himself exclaiming and then blushing profusely. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, although to be fair-

“Is that some sort of prerequisite?” Gregory asks teasingly, but he can tell he’s not as relaxed as he’s pretending to be. After a beat, he frowns. “I’m not trying to pressure you into anything either. I mean- sex is great, really, but if that’s not something you’re up to-”

“You can not possibly want to marry me and don’t expect at least that.”

Gregory’s look turns dark, although Mycroft can tell he’s not angry at him. “I don’t expect anything, Mycroft. I mean- I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you; if you do want to marry me that’d be great, if you wanted to sleep with me it’d be great too, but _I don’t expect_ anything from you. Whatever you want- that’s fine by me.” Mycroft opens his mouth to protest and Gregory silences him with a glare. “I love you. And when you love someone, you just want them to be happy, no matter what that might mean for yourself.”

Mycroft is fairly certain his eyes are filling with tears, but he refuses to cry. It’s ridiculous to get this over emotional, really; there’s no reason to-

“I can’t,” he replies after what feels like a lifetime, once he has managed to get his emotions more or less under control. “Marry you, that is. Not- not the other thing.”

Gregory nods slowly. “You don’t want to marry me at all? Or is it just too soon?”

“Sherlock is fifteen,” Mycroft replies and Gregory frowns in confusion. “Mummy will never approve of me marrying you and if I- she’ll take Sherlock away.” He takes a deep breath, willing his heart to stop beating so erratically. God, that’s such an unpleasant scenario and it’s just so horrid; he shouldn’t- it’s just not fair!

“I understand,” his boyfriend murmurs, grabbing his hand and squeezing gently. “Really, Mycroft, it’s fine.”

“I know you don’t- that my relationship with my parents is a sore spot with you, but I-”

Gregory raises a hand, interrupting him. “I’m not happy with the way your mother uses your brother to manipulate you,” he says darkly. “But my issue is with them, not with you. I understand why you do what you do.”

Mycroft nods hesitantly. “Maybe- in a few years?”

Gregory chuckles good naturedly, bringing his hand to his lips and Mycroft smiles. “I look forward to it.”

So does Mycroft, to be honest.

 

* * *

 

“We really don’t have to do this tonight, Mycroft. Or ever, if you’re not-”

“I want to,” Mycroft interrupts, sitting at the edge of the bed, fidgeting nervously. “I’m just- I’ve never done this before.”

Gregory chuckles, kissing his lips chastely. “I know. And as I’ve said before, I’m fine with waiting. I don’t- if you feel in any way obligated-”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “We’re engaged, now. Sort of. It’s- fine, really.”

“I’m fairly certain that an engagement doesn’t give me any right to anything, love,” Gregory murmurs, coming to sit next to him on the entirely too narrow bed. It would have been better if they had gone back to the house, but he’d rather avoid being somehow interrupted by Sherlock and/or his friend. Besides, he figured it’d be nice if they had some privacy for this so they had agreed to put Gregory’s flat to a good use.

“I didn’t mean-”

“If you’re really sure you want this,” Gregory says, placing a hand against the side of his face. “Then I’d be more than happy to oblige. But only if you’re sure.”

Mycroft nods, biting his lip. “Yes. Just- I might be- it might not be very good.”

Gregory chuckles, pulling him into an awkward embrace due their positions. “First times are usually awkward. But I- well, this might sound a bit cliched, but I do think that if it’s with the right person, it doesn’t really matter if things don’t run very smoothly.” He grins cheekily and Mycroft feels himself blushing, thankful for the relative darkness of the room.

“Right. That’s… nice to know.”

His boyfriend chuckles once more, kissing his forehead. “Even if it’s not very good (and that’s a very big _if,_ because I’m certain it’ll be perfect), we’ll have time to improve.” His eyes have darken and Mycroft can feel heat coiling in his belly. “A lifetime, actually.”

Oh, that sounds…

That sounds perfect, really.

 

* * *

* * *

 

It starts not that different from their usual make out sessions. There is a certain tension, but Mycroft figures that’s natural. He _is_ nervous and he wonders if he’d be doing this if there had been no… proposals earlier, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter. He does want this, has been wanting it for a while and it seems like the perfect moment for it.

A lifetime of holding himself back has made him very reserved with his affections, but he has gotten better at letting go, although he still gets pretty self conscious of every sound he makes, not to mention he might overthink every single one of his moves. It’s not that noticeable (or maybe Gregory simply has gotten used to it) but tonight he’s even more aware of _everything._

“Are you sure-”

“If it comes a moment I want to stop, I’ll let you know Gregory,” he snaps frustratedly, not really appreciating being coddled, particularly not when his nerves keep on attempting to get the better of him. His boyfriend arches an eyebrow, amused and he finds himself pouting.

God, the things this man makes him do. “Just checking,” the older man says, before leaning in for another kiss. The bed is indeed too narrow, or maybe he’s just used to his own and so Mycroft feels like he’s about to fall out at any given movement. He figures attempting to switch positions will be complicated too so he doesn’t try, even if he’s thinking he might feel more comfortable if he got to be on top.

Oh, who is he kidding? He’ll keep on being a nervous wreck no matter what.

He’s usually so self assured and so being this _agitated_ over something regular people seem to find so simple stings on his pride a little, but no amount of reasoning with himself can convince him of shutting down his brain and just go with it. Besides, no matter what Gregory says, he can’t help feeling this is a sort of test and he definitely doesn’t want to fail it.

As he feels his boyfriend undoing his buttons, he has to remind himself to breath. Gregory’s eyes remain fixed on his, questioning, and he nods once, his chest suddenly feeling too tight.

He can do this. He _wants_ to do this.

Easier said than done. He gets a bit distracted as Gregory’s hands run down his sides. He giggles a bit, suddenly ticklish and his boyfriend smiles, leaning down to kiss him once more. The kiss is languid, more loving than lustful and that eases his nerves a little, allowing himself to enjoy the touch instead of worrying about the embarrassing sounds he’s no doubt making.

Gregory’s lips leave his to initiate their travel downwards, lingering on his nipples for a bit, dragging pleased sighs from Mycroft. He feels like his whole body is electrified, his mind slowly giving itself into pleasure, his brain shutting down bit by bit.

It’s- weird, but in a good way.

He giggles once more as Gregory’s lips reach his belly button, letting out a full hearted laugh when the other man dips his tongue in it. He never thought much about what foreplay might include, but he’s finding his boyfriend’s approach quite enjoyable.

It has certainly helped him relax.

They continue like this for a while, alternating between kisses, pleasurable caresses and the occasional poke on his side that makes him giggle. Mycroft is torn between which noise is more embarrassing, if his giggles or his moans, but Gregory seems to like them both equally, so he soon stops trying to contain himself.

And then he feels his boyfriend’s hands undoing the button of his pants and he freezes. He tries to relax immediately, telling himself once more _there’s nothing to worry about_ and _he does want to do this,_ but his brain has gone back online and is in full panic mood.

Gregory stops, looking up at him once more. His eyes are full of concern and _love_ and that gives Mycroft the final push to vanish his self doubt. He’s not about to let his nervousness ruin this for them and so he smiles, nodding once more and pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss to steel his nerves.

Once he’s naked, he realizes that while Gregory has been busy getting rid of _his_ clothes, he’s still perfectly dressed. He arches an eyebrow and the other man laughs, kissing him on the lips quickly before wrapping a hand around him, effectively silencing any protest.

Oh god, that’s- that’s- he can’t even think _what_ that is. Amazing, perfect, mindblowing doesn’t seem to cover up _how good_ it feels and for a while he loses himself in the pleasure, his mind _finally_ blissfully blank as Gregory strokes him and while he’s fairly certain he’s making some very inarticulate, embarrassing noises, he finds he doesn’t give a damn.

He’s done this to himself before, of course, but it never felt like this. For him it was just- a chore to get done, something to take the edge off. Something he didn’t quite enjoy, but-

The world comes to an abrupt stop as Gregory puts his mouth on him and he nearly jumps out of the bed, far too startled by the sheer _intensity_ of it all. It’s too much and yet not enough and he doesn’t know-

He’s coming before he knows it, body going completely slack under his boyfriend’s ministrations. For a beat, he can’t even breath and he can feel his heart attempting to escape his chest. But the most overwhelming part is the rush of emotion, that leaves him reeling and feeling as if he’s free falling.

“God, you look gorgeous,” Gregory murmurs, kissing him again passionately. He’s vaguely aware of his boyfriend touching himself and while he _thinks_ he should be doing something to help, he just feels too boneless to move.

That was absolutely glorious and he wants to do it all over again. And again. And again. And a million times more.

“I don’t think we’re ever leaving this bed again,” he announces very seriously as his boyfriend collapses next to him, nuzzling his neck. “I don’t want to do anything else ever again.”

Gregory laughs, kissing him. “Well, we do have the weekend ahead of us,” he replies between kisses. “But I’m afraid I do need to get to work on Monday. You see, I’ve just acquired a fiancé and those aren’t cheap.”

Mycroft would normally glare, but he feels too damn happy and _pleased_ to even attempt to.

So instead he simply snuggles closer and drifts to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, is that last part the most anticlimactic scene ever?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It feels… weird, somehow. I spent a ridiculous amount of time working on that scene, pacing around the office every 5 minutes or so because I kept getting embarrassed. It’s so   
> __  
> weird  
>   
>  to attempt to write smut! Seriously, how do people do it?
> 
>  
> 
> I worry it doesn’t work with the rest of the chapter and that it actually… eh… cheapens? it. Ruins the set up? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I decided to keep it because… well, I did try, but I would appreciate any feedback you can give on it! I’m trying to push myself a little out of my comfort zone, but I’m not sure if it’s working at all. Does it seems horribly OOC?
> 
>  
> 
> That being said… thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought on the rest of the chapter too! :P Also, I didn’t manage to write that bit here, but Greg was supposed to have come up with the idea of proposing when he was returning Sherlock’s stolen watch and the ring caught his sight. I really wanted to write that bit, but I just couldn’t find a way to make it work in the conversation…
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, again, thanks for reading!


	22. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m not entirely convinced it was really necessary but well…  
> Enjoy!

“What are you doing here?”

Sherlock doesn’t bother answering, since it’s a ridiculous question anyway. He continues examining the photographs in the file, looking for clues. It’d be much easier if he was allowed to go into the actual crime scene, he thinks, but-

“Sherlock,” Lestrade says, taking the file away from him and making the teen glare at him. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you going to John’s game?”

“Dull,” the younger man replies with a roll of his eyes, taking the file back with ease. Lestrade sighs, rubbing his temples tiredly. “The neighbor did it,” he informs him after checking out the last photograph once more. “A bit obvious, really, even considering the Yarders general ineptitude, I’m surprised-”

“Sherlock, what’s really going on?”

Sherlock holds Lestrade stare, silently pondering his options. He’d rather not speak of the real reason that drove him to sneak into Lestrade’s office and snatch a case file, but he knows the man can be pretty stubborn and will keep on prodding until he delivers a “real” answer.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he confesses quietly, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. He feels ridiculous and a tad annoyed at how overly sentimental he’s being, but the truth is that he does need a distraction so he can ignore the way his heart keeps on aching.

He glances at the older man quickly, praying he won’t be asked to elaborate. He really  _ can’t; _ not yet in any case.

Lestrade sighs, taking a seat. “Alright then. Why the neighbor?”

Sherlock smiles (or at least attempts to) and starts explaining his deductions.

The case is indeed a bit dull but he hopes Lestrade will indulge him for a while longer; at least until it doesn't feel like there’s a gaping hole in the middle of his chest.

* * *

 

“Lestrade, there’s a- what are you doing here?”

“Good afternoon, Inspector Gregson,” Sherlock greets, glancing up from the file he’s revising. It’s a cold case, but he supposes it’s rather lucky that that’s the one he’s revising when the older man storms into the small office, otherwise Lestrade might be in big trouble.

Gregson frowns, watching him carefully and Sherlock supposes he has earned the slightly hostile look: he did tend to be rather obnoxious about his deductions and the Yard’s general ineptitude to solve even the most simple cases. He still is, he supposes, but nowadays Lestrade is the only one listening to his ramblings.

“I’m here on a social visit,” the teen adds after a tense silence in which Lestrade shifts nervously on his seat. Sherlock is certainly not allowed to be here, but- 

“Social visit?” Gregson repeats, obviously unconvinced.

“Yep,” Sherlock replies, smiling innocently. “Lestrade here is my brother-in-law. Or about to be, in any case.”

Gregson arches an eyebrow. “Well, that’s a cute story of ‘how I meet your other parent’ story for the children,” he says good naturedly, turning his expectant gaze towards Lestrade. “ _ I was attempting to save your uncle from getting himself killed _ .”

Lestrade’s lips twitch upward and Sherlock pouts. “He actually-”

“Was there something you needed, Inspector?” Lestrade interrupts, sending a dark glare in Sherlock’s direction. The younger man rolls his eyes; he wasn’t going to say anything about his  _ stolen gifts;  _ that’s not actually how he and Lestrade first met, although the older man seems to have already forgotten it.

“I’ll get Hopkins on it,” Gregson announces. “You have a kid to look after.”

Both start protesting, but Gregson has already left, closing the door behind him. Lestrade glares at the door sulkily and Sherlock crosses his arms over his chest, annoyed.

That would have been a good distraction.

“Alright, let’s head home,” Lestrade says, standing up and picking up his coat. “I’m not going to be allowed to do anything with you here anyway.”

Sherlock would protest, but his stomach chooses that exact moment to remind him he hasn’t eaten since breakfast and that was a long while ago.

He thinks mournfully of his abandoned chips at John’s game, not to mention their dinner reservation and shakes his head, chasing the thought away. He’s not thinking of John, not now!

He stands up and follows after Lestrade, ignoring the curious looks the older man keeps sending in his direction, concentrating on shoving his emotions back into their boxes hidden in the depths of his Mind Palace.

* * *

 

“So, what happened?” Lestrade prods once they’ve taken a seat in the small coffee shop. Sherlock glares from over his soda, but the man keeps staring at him, eyes soft, willing him to talk.

Sherlock shrugs, toying with a straw. He doesn’t want to talk about it; not now and probably not ever, but-

“Did you and John have an argument?”

Sherlock scoffs. They probably would have, have John been paying enough attention to notice Sherlock’s annoyance but he was too busy  _ talking  _ to the pretty girls surrounding him and other team’s members before the game.

He realizes he has said as much out loud and now Lestrade is staring at him  _ pityingly. _

“I don’t need your pity,” he hisses angrily, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at nothing in particular. His chest is aching once more, having been reminded of how horribly what he had thought would be a nice afternoon had gone.

“Oh, Sherlock,” Lestrade says, ignoring the murdering glare sent in his direction. “I understand you’re jealous. I mean- nobody likes their partner being all…  _ cozy  _ with someone else, but-”

“I’m not jealous,” he protests stubbornly. “John can do whatever he wants as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care if he wants to  _ flirt  _ with the whole school.” The mere idea is more than painful and makes him want to throw up, but he forces himself to swallow his hurt.

Lestrade shakes his head but before he can say anything, his phone rings. He takes it out and Sherlock glares at it sulkily, both annoyed and relieved at the interruption. He really doesn’t want to discuss his  _ feelings  _ and certainly not with his future brother-in-law, even if he’s the least emotionally constipated of the family.

“Your brother wants to know if you’re with me,” Lestrade informs him. “Apparently John called him to ask your whereabouts and you’re not answering your phone, so he’s panicking a little.” Sherlock shrugs non committedly, unsure of how he’s feeling about John’s concern (although he feels a bit guilty about Mycroft’s worry).

“I don’t want to see him,” Sherlock murmurs, eyes fixed on his soda. 

“Who? John or Mycroft?”

“Neither,” he replies plainly. He really doesn’t want his brother to see him like this and start questioning all his life choices (because god knows that’s exactly what Mycroft will do and that will just lead to tension between him and Lestrade). As for John-

He can’t. He’s fairly certain he’ll either start yelling or crying at the sight of the older teen and that simply won’t do.

“Alright,” Lestrade replies, patting his hand awkwardly. “I’m just letting them know you’re fine.”

That’s not the word Sherlock would use to describe his state.

But he supposes it’ll do.

* * *

 

“What happened?” John demands as soon as Sherlock crosses the threshold, startling the younger teen. “I’ve been calling you since the game ended! Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

Sherlock scoffs, his pride helping to mask his hurt. “I didn’t think you’d care,” he replies icily, pushing past his boyfriend (ex?) and into the living room. His brother is there, looking concerned, but one quick look shared with Lestrade over their heads has him vacating the room, even if he still looks troubled.

“What is that supposed to mean?” John asks, grabbing him by the wrist, gently but firmly. “Sherlock, what’s going on?”

Sherlock shrugs. “I just assumed you’d be too busy with all those girls to notice my absence,” he replies, tone perfectly devoid of emotion. “I understand if you do not wish to continue our relationship John, but I’d ask you to tell me-”

“What are you talking about?” John interrupts him, looking mostly puzzled and perhaps a tad annoyed. “I don’t- why would you even think that?”

“I saw you-”

“No, you saw the boys  _ talking  _ to Mary and her friends. I was merely being polite to them!”

Sherlock makes a face. “You seemed quite… happy with them.”

John frowns. “Sherlock, my whole life doesn’t revolve around you,” he says slowly, pulling him close and Sherlock allows him to hug him. “Even if you do play a big part in it,” he adds, kissing his forehead. “You can’t- I mean, I won’t… don’t you think you’re being a little possessive?”

Perhaps. But- “You’d probably be better off with one of those girls,” he argues softly. “I’m- I don’t-” he takes a deep breath, willing himself to complete his thought. “I don’t like sharing you.”

John shakes his head, kissing him chastely on the lips. “Don’t be silly. I love you, but it doesn’t mean I can no longer talk to anyone else.”

“They were flirting with you,” Sherlock protests, because he  _ knows  _ what he saw.

“Perhaps,” John acknowledges, “but I wasn’t flirting back. Seriously Sherlock, why would I want anyone else when I have you?”

Sherlock shrugs non committedly. He’ll admit he might have overreacted a bit, his insecurities getting the best of him, but- “I don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs, hiding his face against John’s neck. His boyfriend sighs, hugging him tighter.

“You won’t,” he promises earnestly, pulling away a little so he can look him in the eye. “We’re in for the long run, okay?”

Sherlock hums. “How long exactly are you thinking?” he asks, a tad teasingly, but mostly hoping to hear-

“How does the rest of our lives sound?”

Sherlock smiles.

Exactly what he wanted to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I think there are just a couple more of chapters to go, so I intended to wrap things up a bit. Since the next chapter will be skipping a few years into the future, I figured this could work nicely, but now I’m not sure if it’s just feels like an unnecessary filler...  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	23. Full circles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! Gosh, that was quick, wasn’t it? What can I say, when inspiration strikes…  
> This chapter has a slightly different format than the others, I hope it’s not upsetting? Also… this wasn’t quite I was expecting, but considering how the plot ran away from me, I suppose it makes some sense.  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

“You know what day is today?”

Mycroft makes a displeased sound as the covers get unceremoniously yanked away from him and he attempts to shield his eyes from the light coming through the open curtains by placing a pillow over his face. Gregory laughs, stealing the pillow away and so earning himself a dark glare from his fiancé.

The older man keeps staring at him expectantly and so Mycroft figures it’s  _ one of those dates.  _ Unfortunately his mind is still suffering the effects of a whole week of poor sleep and meetings with  _ annoying  _ people and so isn’t up for the challenge. While he hates seeing Gregory’s face fall due his inability to remember those dates he deems important, he must admit he has no idea what day is today.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he says and Gregory rolls his eyes good naturedly, so he supposes it’s not something terribly important then.

“January 6th,” his fiancé replies, still grinning and Mycroft frowns.

January 6th. Sherlock’s birthday. Why-?

Oh. Sherlock’s  _ 18th  _ birthday.

He grins then, sitting up although he gets promptly tackled by his partner who is kissing him enthusiastically, so he doesn’t complain even though he supposes their celebration can’t last as long as he’d want, considering  _ there’s so much to do now. _

After all, they have a wedding to plan!

* * *

 

“You left me to wake up all alone on my birthday.”

John rolls his eyes dramatically, ignoring his boyfriend as he wraps his arms around his waist and places his chin on his head, simply continuing making them breakfast. It’s nothing fancy of course, but then Sherlock hardly ever bothers with food anyway.

Sherlock pouts, not liking being ignored. Although John can’t see him he knows he can tell he’s pouting by the way his shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter. “You’re a terrible boyfriend,” he informs him very seriously and the older teen finally gives into laughter.

“I’m sure,” John replies, turning off the stove and turning around so he can hug Sherlock back. “That’s why you’ve put up with me for so long.” He stands on his tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss against his lips before slipping away.

“I could always find myself a new one,” he muses out loud, but they both know he’s kidding. John shouts something that resembles  _ I’d like to see you try  _ and Sherlock pouts once more, turning his attention back to breakfast.

He’s not that hungry honestly, but he knows John will make a fuss if he doesn’t eat. He glances at the clock on the wall and wonders about the merits of skipping school altogether. John won’t like it; he’s always been quite  _ peculiar  _ about not skipping classes and that’s especially true since they started college, but-

_ It is his birthday.  _ Shouldn’t they spend the day doing something more… pleasurable?

Now that’s a thought. He smiles to himself and starts making his way to the bedroom, ready to make his move when his phone rings. He picks it absentmindedly and makes a face at seeing it’s a text from his brother. Wishing him a happy birthday, probably, while also trying to hide his joy at what the date represents for himself.

“How does that work?” he asks aloud. “Will I have to do all the wedding planning?”

John’s head peeks from the bedroom door. “Knowing your brother? He’ll probably want to hire one of those overly pricey wedding planners.”

Sherlock hums. “He’ll need to start saving money though. Mummy will be most displeased.”

John huffs, going back to the bedroom. “They’ll be fine,” he says and Sherlock nods absentmindedly, replying to his brother’s text, congratulating him for his  _ actual  _ engagement. “Are you going to come in here so I can give you your birthday present?” John asks after a bit, getting Sherlock’s full attention when he appears at the room’s threshold, wearing absolutely nothing.

“Oh John, you always know exactly what to get me,” Sherlock says, calmly making his way towards his smirking boyfriend. “I’m certain I’ll enjoy it very much.”

In lieu of an answer, John kisses him.

* * *

 

Mycroft is torn about the way he feels. On one hand, he’s giddy with the prospect of finally marrying the man he’s madly in love with. On the other, he’s not at all looking forward telling Mummy about the engagement.

He knows he must. He’s done hiding for fear of his mother’s wrath and it’s not like it longer matters. Sherlock is old enough to make decisions for himself and while Mummy is very likely to disown them both, it’s not that terrible. He makes enough money to support his own household and continue paying for Sherlock’s and John’s small flat near school, so-

As for his job, he has become indispensable enough not to worry about losing it, no matter how many people his mother threatens. It won’t be pleasant, certainly and there’ll be a lot of tension in the air, but he can survive it.

He glances at the ring he now can wear proudly and finds himself smiling. It might be a bit oversentimental of him, he thinks, but he has learned that when it comes to Gregory, he doesn’t mind being sentimental at all. 

There’s a sharp knock on his door and it startles him out of his pleasant daydream of his wedding day, making him blush a bit, embarrassed of getting distracted so easily. At the door his assistant arches an eyebrow, obviously amused.

“Something happened?” he asks, ignoring the woman’s knowing smile and also knowing he’s going to be teased forever about this little slip. Truly, if she wasn’t such a capable assistant he would have found another one long ago.

Anthea shrugs non committedly, placing a small box of pastries on his desk. “I heard congratulations are in order,” she replies with a small smile. “One last indulgence before you start worrying like crazy about your weight and how you’re going to look in your wedding tux.” She smirks and Mycroft glares, knowing she’s just teasing him although he’s going to do exactly that. 

“Thank you,” he replies, perhaps a tad shakily and the woman comes to stand closer so she can pat his shoulder reassuringly, if a bit awkwardly. “I think- umm… well, I can’t trust Sherlock to help me plan the wedding, not really, so-”

“I’m already ahead of you,” she tells him, pulling out her phone and showing him her planner. “We’re seeing your personal tailor in two days and I’ve already scheduled with the Chief Inspector to give Mr. Lestrade half day off. Also, I was wondering just how big of a wedding you wanted? Because-”

Mycroft bites his lip, wondering just what exactly he has gotten himself into.

One quick look at his ring promptly reminds him it’s all worth it.

So very worth it.

* * *

 

“What are you thinking about?”

Sherlock hums questioningly, burying his face in John’s chest. His boyfriend smiles, pulling him closer. “I can tell you’re thinking about something. You have this look…” he trails off, waving a hand vaguely and Sherlock shrugs.

“Nothing important, really. I was remembering the first time we did this.”

John groans, slapping his forehead and Sherlock giggles. “Must you? I think we’ve gotten better.”

Sherlock kisses his neck, shrugging once more. “I don’t know why you find it so embarrassing. We were 16, we didn’t particularly care about anything other than getting off and I think we achieved that quite well, don’t you agree?”

John rolls his eyes. “Yes. In like… 5 minutes or so.”

Sherlock giggles once more. “People are so sensitive about their stamina,” he teases and John glares playfully before rolling on top of him, pining him to the mattress.

“I’ll show you my stamina,” he whispers and Sherlock groans hungrily, locking his legs around his boyfriend’s waist, pressing their bodies close together. He’s about to reply something challengingly when they hear the front door opening, startling them both.

They pull away right away, both diving for their respective clothes. Sherlock has always appreciated John’s quick reflexes and considering his tendency to run into trouble (he hasn’t outgrown his  _ chasing criminals phase _ and he’s unlikely to do it now) it has come handy more than once.

They share a look and a nod and Sherlock steps out of the bedroom carefully, eyes sweeping over the small flat quickly, ready to face whatever might be waiting for him.

Or so he thought.

“Hello, Sherlock dear.”

Sherlock’s mouth falls open and his brain goes in complete panic mode, so for a beat he isn’t capable of answering. His mother simply smiles and continues watching him, her smile pleasant but her eyes as cold as ever.

“What are you doing here?” he finally manages to ask and the woman’s smile widens.

“What? Can’t a mother visit her son on his 18th birthday?” Sherlock is about to retort something probably nasty when she carries on. “You have visitors, I see,” she says, pointing at the half closed door and Sherlock braces himself for what’s likely to be an argument.

“How did you know where I’d be?” he asks, ignoring her previous statement and she rolls her eyes dramatically.

“By tracking your brother’s accounts, obviously. He likes to think he’s so discreet, but I knew he was paying for this flat since you started Uni, so it wasn’t a difficult leap. I wasn’t quite expecting you’d be living with someone but well… as I always said, your brother was too permissive with you.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

She shrugs. “It didn’t seem terribly worrying. It’s not like I was expecting anything better from you.” The words shouldn’t sting half as much as they do, but Sherlock forces himself to remain stoic, although he’s quite relieved to feel John’s hand slipping into his, pulling him close, regardless of the way Mummy’s eyes narrow at the sight. “But then he started paying for another flat and I began to wonder. Is there something you’d care to share with me, darling?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because your brother can afford his own flat and he already has a job. You and your…  _ boyfriend  _ on the other hand-”

“I’m 18 now,” Sherlock interrupts darkly. “You can disown me if you like, but you can no longer tell me what to do.”

She makes a face, obviously annoyed. “Is this how it’s going to be, then?” Sherlock doesn’t answer, holding his chin high instead and she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Evidently I was right. It was a mistake letting your brother-”

“If that’s all, you can show yourself out,” Sherlock interrupts sharply and he realizes he’s shaking, in anger and frustration, but also in sadness. His mother stares at him for another beat before turning around and exiting the flat, slamming the door on her way out.

He feels lightheaded and basically collapses in John’s arms. He’s still shaking, but now there are tears streaming down his cheeks and he doesn’t understand  _ why  _ he feels this way. Things were never going to go well with his parents no matter what, and yet-

John hugs him tighter, kissing his forehead and whispering gentle nonsense against his ear, promising everything is going to be fine.

And he does believe him.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

* * *

 

**_I heard congratulations are in order._ **

Mycroft re reads the text for what feels like the millionth time, wondering how his father found out about his engagement and how is he supposed to respond to that message.

Before he can decide on a course of action, another text arrives.  **_Your mother is livid, naturally and hoping you’ll come to your senses and call the whole thing off._ **

Anger fills his veins and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to keep on breathing. He’s angry, so very angry. How dare they-

His phone vibrates once more.  **_I know you won’t, because I know you haven’t taken a leave of your senses._ ** A pause and another text arrives.  **_Love is a hard concept to understand or defend._ **

Mycroft taps his fingers against the screen, thinking about  _ how  _ can he answer that.  **_Your mother might come around, or maybe she won’t but either way, I hope you’ll be very happy. You deserve it._ **

He closes his eyes once more, holding back tears.

Too many mixed feelings. 

He takes a deep breath, willing himself to regain his calm.  **I don’t care if she doesn’t. In truth, I don’t care about what either of you think.**

**_Fair enough._ **

He closes his eyes once more, taking slow deep breaths. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth and he’s not quite sure what exactly he’s feeling, but he supposes it doesn’t particularly matter. What’s done is done and he wouldn’t change a single thing.

His ring catches his sight once more.

The past shall remain in the past and the future is bright.

Isn’t that more than enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts anyone?  
> See what I meant? I wasn’t quite expecting for the chapter to go this way (although I was certainly hoping for some resolution on the parents’ situation) but I think it does work, although I think it might feel a bit… rough? Also, there’s a wedding being planned, shouldn’t there be some fluffiness around? :P  
> Next chapter should be the last, or so I think, unless I realize there are plots left very unresolved. But I do think most of it has been covered, although please let me know if not.  
> I was rather hoping to write some Johnlock mild smut but that just wasn’t working here. Maybe for the next one, although I guess we’ll see ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	24. Happily ever after?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it! Our final chapter! Boy, has it been a fun ride!  
> But all things come to an end and well… here we are.  
> Enjoy!

“I do.”

Mycroft thinks it’s rather ridiculous he finds himself breathing so much easier after Gregory utters the words, but he can’t help himself. Of course they’ve been dating for a little over 4 years, so if his partner wanted to leave him he wouldn’t have waited until _their wedding_ and it’s not like the fact that they’re now married means much in the great scheme of things; after all isn’t the current divorce rate 30% or something? So that means-

God, why is he thinking about this?

His dark thoughts get interrupted by his now-husband thoroughly kissing him. Oh, so they have gotten to that part of the ceremony already? He smiles as his husband pulls away, grinning brightly back at him.

Can he be blamed for fearing losing this? He doesn’t think so. Of course it’s not particularly attractive to be so ridiculously insecure, but he’s careful to keep his fears to himself; Gregory will only assure him they’re unfounded and that doesn’t help as much as the other man seems to think.

But this is good, he supposes, glancing at their linked hands and their matching rings. Marriage might not be forever nowadays, but it generally signifies both parties like each other well enough to _attempt_ make it last forever, right?

God, he’s a nervous wreck.

But well… he’s a _happy_ nervous wreck and that counts for something, doesn’t it?

 

* * *

 

“Bored.”

John pinches his tight and Sherlock glares, crossing his arms over his chest. He _is_ bored; it’s not his fault his brother’s… acquaintances are the dullest people in London. Lestrade’s _friends_ and family don’t fare much better, to be honest and so by the time dinner is over, he’s wanting to leave.

“I’m bored, John,” he repeats dramatically, earning himself a few glares from the people sitting next to them. His boyfriend ignores him, used as he is to his dramatic displays and Sherlock huffs, looking around the room, trying to find something to entertain himself with.

A few minutes tick by and he wonders why he agreed to come at all. Of course he’s the only family member present and it would have been rude and _cruel_ leaving Mycroft alone on such an important day but surely attending the ceremony would have been sufficient? But John being the _romantic_ he is had wanted to attend the party too and well…

Here they are.

“Why you wanted to come, anyway?” he demands after a while, turning his attention back to his boyfriend, freezing when he catches John’s look. He’s staring at the dance floor almost… longingly, gaze soft. “John?”

His boyfriend turns back to him, startled and blushing a little. Sherlock frowns, trying to make sense of what he has just seen. “Do you want to dance?” he asks cautiously because John has never shown any interest in something like _dancing,_ but-

“I- Not exactly?” John says, making Sherlock’s frown deepen and so he sighs. “I just- We have never danced together,” he explains with a small shrug. “It’s- well, most of my mates took their girls to the school dances but you never wanted to go and so…” he trails off, his blush intensifying as Sherlock keeps frowning. “Nevermind. I know it’s silly.”

“You don’t know how to dance,” Sherlock says. “And you _hated_ school dances. You told me as much! You said you only went to the first one with Mary because she-”

“Yes, well, as I said,” John interrupts sharply, face closed off now. “It’s silly.”

John turns to stare at the dancing couples once more and Sherlock continues staring at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he should do. Finally, he makes up his mind. “Come on,” he says, standing up and grabbing John by the wrist.

“Where are we going?” John asks, letting him drag him along as he usually does.

Sherlock doesn’t answer, instead continues pulling him until they’re standing in the middle of the dance floor. John is blushing again, looking around nervously. “Sherlock, there’s really no need-”

The younger teen doesn’t comment, simply placing John’s hand on his waist while grabbing the other. It’s been ages since he danced, but he supposes he remembers well enough. Of course Mummy was the one who taught him to dance and that brings unpleasant memories, but if John wants to dance with him-

Then Sherlock is happy to comply.

 

* * *

 

“Your brother is quite a dancer,” Gregory comments, leaning close, his breath ghosting against his ear sending shivers down Mycroft’s spine. He smiles softly, staring at his brother on the dance floor, allowing himself to relax against his husband.

“He’s a natural,” he replies, “you’ve seen the grace he moves with.”

Gregory hums, half turning to him. “It must be a family thing.”

Mycroft huffs, thinking he’s as far from graceful as they come, but he knows Gregory will deny it if he says as much. Nevermind he stepped on his foot more than a dozen times when they were practicing for their first dance.

His partner seems to know what he’s thinking by the way his eyes are sparkling and that sends another shiver down his spine. He thinks it’s ridiculous how easily Gregory still makes his knees go weak with a simple smile; as if he was the awkward 19-years-old he was when they first meet. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, though, so he supposes it’s not that bad.

Gregory glances at his watch and Mycroft frowns, wondering what’s wrong. His husband notices his look and smiles, pressing his lips against the shell of his ear. “I’m just wondering how much longer we have to stay so we don’t seem rude. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely party… but I’m rather looking forward to taking you to bed.”

Mycroft is fairly certain he’s red as a tomato but he manages to keep his voice steady when he replies, “it’s _our_ wedding. We should be allowed to be as rude as we want to be.”

Gregory laughs, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek, “eager, are we?”

“It’s all your fault,” Mycroft protests, smirking lightly. “You’re the one who insisted we shouldn’t see each other a week before the wedding.”

Gregory shrugs, smiling playfully. “I’ll have to make it up to you, I suppose.”

Mycroft kisses him then, smiling too, feeling entirely too joyful and wondering what he did to deserve this amount of happiness.

He finds he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, but he’ll do anything to preserve it.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh. Do they have no shame?”

John giggles, hidding his face in Sherlock’s chest. “Let them be. They’ve just gotten married.”

“Exactly!” Sherlock exclaims. “Can’t they wait till their sex holiday?”

John breaks down into giggles, earning them a few curious glances from the people around them. Sherlock smiles, pleased with himself. Even after all these years, he still treasures every single one of John’s laughs, particularly when he provoked them.

“Don’t be bitter,” his boyfriend says once he has his laughter back under control. “We’ll go on a sex holiday as soon as I’m done with my exams.”

Sherlock brightens up at the prospect, earning himself yet more laughter from his boyfriend. “Although I always thought you needed to get married before you could do that,” he says, aiming to sound aloof, but failing miserably.

John hums, pulling him closer. “Ask me again in a few years.”

Sherlock pouts, but John doesn’t notice since he has closed his eyes. “Why?” he asks after a beat, not really wanting to disturb his partner, but-

“Because I refuse to be a kept husband,” John replies good naturedly. “Particularly when y _our brother_ is the one doing the keeping. I want us to finish Uni, get a job, pay for our place. And then we can marry.”

It’s not the most pleasant of ideas, but Sherlock supposes it’ll do. Not that he actually wants to carry on with his education, but John doesn’t need to know that right now. And he does plan to get a job, even if he’s not quite certain _as what_ just yet.

He kisses John gently, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of his partner and the soft pleased noise he makes. Marriage can wait, he supposes and it’s not like he doesn’t get to enjoy the joys of married life now.

Besides, John didn’t say no.

And there’s no need to rush anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I could add more, but I don’t know what. Huh.  
> Anyway… this is it, lovelies! We’re done with this particular tale and it does end on a positive note, doesn’t it? The ending is sweet, I think, even if not overly so and all the angst and drama does pay off, doesn’t it?  
> I’d love to hear your thoughts on it!  
> For myself, I just want to thank you once more for reading and for the kudos and the comments! It’s been a joy to work on this tale and I enjoyed myself immensely. This was supposed to be a short, light hearted tale, but well… as usual, my ideas ran away from me but I think it worked out for the best ;)  
> In case you’re interested, I’m currently working on another Mystrade/Johnlock fic called "[Little lies and crazy plans.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10380312/chapters/22925070)  
> " It’s supposed to be humorous too, but we'll see :P  
> I have an idea for continuing this verse, but my current idea is _sad_ and so very _angsty and I’m not sure I can do that to our boys after writing this particular tale. I don’t know, it just feels unfair somehow. I’m a believer of ___happily ever after, even if I have yet to witness one IRL.  
> Anyway… enough of my ramblings. Just let me thank you once more for allowing me to share this story with you and I hope you enjoyed it! If you’d be as kind as letting me know what you thought, I’d be most thankful.  
> “See” you around!
> 
>  
> 
> _  
>   
>  _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
>   
>  _

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out! Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
